


Faustian Bargain

by redmorpho



Category: Original Work
Genre: Christianity, Female Protagonist, Gen, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Urban Fantasy, Vampires, government agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-02-27 12:02:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 32,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18738616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redmorpho/pseuds/redmorpho
Summary: Ritual murders get the interest of the government's paranormal agency. An agent is put back on active duty to solve the case... if she can manage to negotiate between her day job and her side job as a warrior of God.





	1. Chapter 1

Prolog

 

So this is where you were.

...Look, feel free to point that gun at me if it makes you happy, but move your finger off the trigger. That is how we end up with things like Marvin getting shot in the face. That's it... Ay. Do you have the slightest idea about gun safety?

Oh, don't give me that look. Now, where was I... yes. I suppose we should get around to introducing ourselves? Well, I already know who you are, so I suppose it's my turn.

Stop giving me that look. You know how this business goes.

My name is Magda Pall, and right now, I'm the only thing standing between you and a bullet in the head, so you should take the time to listen. I'll start by saying that you're hardly the first person I've had to give a talking to about this, though it's been a while since the last one. I doubt they'll be pulling me out of retirement to try it again either.

And trying to play the innocent doesn't work with me, but you'll be happy to know that I have no intention of just trying to browbeat you into coming back to the flock. If you want to leave, that's your decision. I'm just going to help you to make it an informed choice.

Hm? Oh, I doubt they'll be happy about my own choice, but they know what I'm like. I've always had a problem with following direct orders when it comes to things like this. 

So. I'm going to tell you a story, and you're going to listen. Okay? You might as well take a seat, this'll take a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Prolog as in the German word. It's not a misspelling.


	2. Chapter 1

I'm not going to start from the beginning. The beginning isn't interesting--to me, at least--and it's not relevant to your question either. So we begin _in media res_ , as the storytellers call it. What you need to know is that I had just gone through a rough patch in my life. I had lost my adoptive family, broken up with my fiancé, and when I went to drown my sorrows, I got mugged by some lucky...jerks...that attacked me when I had my guard down. That left me with some nice scars on my face in the process, and the bosses decided that if I was out of it enough for some punks to get the jump on me, then I needed to be taken off the field until I recovered. Ever since then, I'd been placed onto reserve duty and a lot of the hunters made a point of reminding me of my status. I wasn't one of the big badasses chasing demons anymore, I was stuck behind the desk, filing briefs on their adventures.

If there is one thing that I hate about being taken off "active duty," for the most part, it's that I'd become the gopher for everyone else.

It wasn't so bad, though. The hunters were... rude, but the office workers mostly just ignored me insofar as my drop. I did a lot of things that were boring, or that I hadn't been used to before, like taking reports from the other hunters, typing briefs up (on an actual typewriter), and learning to file papers. I was also stuck doing the footwork in the background, like driving around and giving people the subpoenas, things like that. If I were as high-strung as I was when I was young, I might have thought it was hell, but given the recent changes in my life, it was rather nice. It didn't hurt that the other office workers weren't as big of pains in the _ass_ as the hunters, either. They helped me to learn the new skills I had to pick up, and they were patient with me. Considering what I'd been through, it felt oddly nice of them.

So what if I had to get my own coffee. I learned a new appreciation for the stuff that had always been going on in the background while I stayed out all day and followed people. It was nice to not be in constant competition with everyone else. I ended up getting along pretty well with my coworkers.

My coworkers, not my bosses.

The day was October 27th, I think. When I got to my desk that morning, I found a cup of coffee on top of a manila folder on my desk. The contents of the styrofoam cup were a pale tan color and gave off the smell of vanilla and cinnamon. It wasn't my birthday, so my suspicions perked up. I carefully sat down at my desk and set my things to the side before picking the cup up. After holding it under my nose for a few minutes--to see if I could smell any poison, and not because I was savoring the scent, of course--I took a small sip.

Delicious. Definitely not something one would find in an office unless it was for a big boss. 

It had to be a bribe.

You might think that I'm being paranoid, but when nice things happen to people at this job, the bosses always seemed to assign the worst kind of work afterward. I guess they haven't noticed we've all picked up on that.

Further proof that they did? When I was done with the coffee for the time being, I set the cup aside and looked in the folder. Its contents were proof that my theory was right.

Inside of the manila folder were large color pictures--graphic ones. Men and woman of all ages, their bodies dumped into alleyways, their throats ripped out and their bodies pale--obviously from a lack of blood, given that they had been disemboweled. Information attached to the images said that the disembowelment had been while the victims were alive--the cut was crooked, not straight; blood flow indicated that the victims had been alive when the cuts were made; and there was bleeding and significant chaffing around the ligature marks at the wrists and ankles. Lack of defensive wounds may have meant that they were tied up in such a way they were stretched out. There were further lacerations on the body, particularly in areas where the cuts would have bled heavily or been more painful, that had been made with a very different knife. In addition, the bodies showed signs of whipping and beating on the back and on the limbs. 

The disembowelment should have been the killing blow, but the autopsy report indicated that it might have been from having their throats ripped out, as there were signs of the hearts pumping blood out of the neck injuries. There were also signs that the throats had been torn out using someone's teeth, as the edges of the injuries showed tearing and species. The DNA that had been traced from saliva on the victim wasn't on record, but the DNA was a match between victims, so it was the same person every time. On the wall near each body, a magical circle had been drawn in blood. The blood used was a match to the victims.

Next were newspapers--nothing special, but all of them had the same headlines: serial killer in Ybor, apparently linked to the occult--because apparently the runes weren't a big enough clue--and possibly a sexual predator. The latest murder victim, a young woman in her late teens, had been discovered October 24th.

While I was flipping the newspaper closed, I heard the tap-tap-tap of someone's heels. Sure enough, my direct superior, Agent Bright, walked into my cubicle. She was tall and beautiful, with the olive skin of the Mediterraneans. Her dark hair was in a neat pixie cut, and her clothes--a simply button-down shirt of Egyptian cotton, clean cut slacks, and very-expensive-but-still-practical flats--probably cost more than my lease for the year. "Well?"

"Well… what?"

"What do you make of the matter?"

I gave her a look. "I think that I'm about to get sent on a yet another mission that'll give me nightmares."

She gave me a cold smile in return. It was almost humorous how a woman that looked like the spokesmodel for some age-regenerating crème company could make herself look like an evil witch. "Besides that?"

I flipped through the photos again. "At first glance, it has the obvious earmarks of a Nosferatu. Which doesn't make sense, since this is Florida. They would have a hard time keeping up any disguises or enthralling anyone around all this water." Which was one of the nice things about living here--you didn't need to worry about human-sized unholy bloodsuckers, just the tiny ones. "But there's something here that doesn't fit."

That got a nod from her. "The chewing and the fact they got usable DNA off the saliva seems to point to a human," Bright observed.

I sighed, closing the folder. "Which probably means that this is some kind of ritual to turn themselves into something or other. Well, that's just grand."

"We've had five victims so far. We've been able to find some links between the victims, but nothing that could be used practically to pick the next one, and the murders seem to be occurring at random intervals, as far as we can tell. But the timing..."  
It wasn't necessary for me to look at my calendar. "It's close to All Souls' Day," I said aloud, following it up with a sigh. "If there were ever a time for an empowering ritual of human souls…"

"Exactly. And that's the kind of trouble we don't need." Bright produced another manila folder, apparently from thin air, which she handed to me. "Here. Personal information on the victims. You also have permission to select members for your own team of hunters to start scouting out the areas where the bodies were found and see if there any connections to where they took place. They'll report any information they find to you."

"I get authority suddenly?"

"Most of them are your juniors. Consider this a trial run to see whether you've recovered enough to start taking charge and do the job you were originally given." A hard look entered her dark eyes. "Don't disappoint me."

As she walked away, one of the newer hunters strolled by with a big grin. "Hey, Magda!"

"Pall," I corrected without really thinking, too concerned with flipping through the rest of the documents in the folder.

The future annoyance, Hunter Blake, brushed off my terseness. "Are you looking forward to the Day of the Dead?"

That made me look up. "What now?"

"You know, because of the Spanish thing."

This was not and would not be the first or last time I would hear something like that. "Blake," I began, in as even a tone of voice that I could manage. "I'm not Spanish, and I'm also not Mexican, which is where El Día de los Muertos comes from. I'm Puerto Rican."

"Ah. Sorry, Pall," he replied, before leaning over my desk and trying to get a look at the folder. "What's that?"

I neatly flipped the folder closed and then tucked it under my arm. "It's my new case. There's been a series of murders and they want me to organize a team and look into it."

For a moment, Blake's eyes widened before he grinned. "Hey, look who's back in the saddle! Can I join in? My work's been slow lately, and I could really use the exercise."

I rolled my eyes a little, though his enthusiasm was a little uplifting. Much like a small yappy dog, I need to add. "Sure, why not. Now get out--I have to finish making up the list of the rest of my little helpers."

"Oh, I can help you with that, boss lady!"

"No, I'm doing that on my own. I know who I'll work best with." I shooed him away and set up a typewriter and a sheet of paper before heading down to the scheduling department to find the lucky people with time off.

* * *

About an hour later, I was waiting in one of the conference rooms. There were about twenty other people--the people that had originally been investigating, plus the people that I had chosen to add--but one man was still missing.

I drummed my fingers against the table for a moment before checking my watch. "There's no way it takes forty-five minutes to make copies."

"Depends; have you used the copier they have down in the basement?" Blake asked, grinning a little. "I always hear the officers complaining about people forgetting to replace the toner and stuff like that."

Ugh. Now I remembered what it was like fighting with the copier. And I had that to look forward to after the case, too. "Have they tried putting out a memo as a reminder... wait, what am I talking about. Of course no one would pay attention." I shook my head. "Still, I haven't heard anything that makes me think this guy'll be pleasant."

The "he" in question was Robert Richards. I'd never met him before, except in passing, but he had been highly recommended by Bright, and his records make him sound almost miraculously competent. When I checked his schedule, too, I found that it was clear for the length of time that we presumably had to figure out what the hell was going on. I took the hint and called him up on the interoffice line to make arrangements.

And now it seemed like he had either forgotten about the appointment entirely or the copier really was acting up like Blake had said. With a final glance at my watch, I sighed and stood up, ready to start the meeting, "All right--"

With perfect timing, the door opened once more to let a young man--although everyone looks young to me--in. He was dressed in what looked like very expensive motorcycle leathers, more pretty than practical. I adjusted my opinion of him down a few notches, and further when I noticed the cool look that he swept the room with, as though he didn't think that any of us were worth sharing the same air. I had to close my eyes and take a deep breath to force my hackles back down. "Agent Richards. Cutting it close, weren't you?"

"My apologies, Magda, I thought that that would take a much shorter amount of time," he answered carelessly.

"That's Agent Pall to you." I shook off my aggravation and flipped open the folder. I began passing the pictures around--several of the newer members went pale and almost green, the more experienced just looked more grim. Blake finally stopped grinning and I felt a little depressed at the stricken expression on his face. "This is our target, people. We need to find whoever it is that's been doing these sacrifices, and we need to find him, or her, or them, quickly." I went over the information that Bright and I had covered earlier.

Roberts frowned. "Is this really something we need to dirty our hands with? This could just be some civvie faker that thought it'd be fun to make it look like the occult. And there's all this blood!"

I got out a snort. "Luckily for you, Beto, you are not going to be "dirtying" your hands with the crime scenes. Instead, you and Agents Whitehorst and Roselawn, along with Agent Blake, will be in charge of investigating the victims and seeing if there are any connections between them that may have lead the killer to picking them for targets."

"What, and let you get all the glory?" Blake called jovially.

"Yes," I responded, without looking up. "Agent Janssen, you're coming with me. I'm going to the police station to talk to them about releasing their information to us and then to the morgue to see about the body; having back-up for me would help a lot."

"Yes, ma'am!"

"All right, what else... since this case seems to have traces of vampirism, Mr. Seda at the Red Room should probably be contacted. I'll do that on my own when I have time. The families of the victims were probably questioned; I want transcripts of those interviews on my desk by close of business tomorrow at the latest, and I want people going over the crime scenes with a fine-toothed comb to see if there's any residual magical energy left. We also want to see if there's any way we can pinpoint where the crimes are taking place--the victims are obviously being killed elsewhere from where they're being dumped. It looks like we have a limited amount of time to solve this before the case blows up on us, people, so I want you all to be in regular contact. Dismissed." A moment later and I began assigning groups to the different tasks I had mentioned. It was at least half an hour before I felt safe to leave things be. "Agent Janssen, you have your own ride?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"All right, then let's go. I want to talk to the police and see if they've made any connections that they haven't sent out yet." I ran a hand through my hair and sighed. "Honestly, why the hell didn't they assign this case to someone earlier? If this thing detonates, it'll be in only a few days. It can't have taken them that long for the pattern to be noticed."

"Ma'am?"

"Nothing." I shook my head. "Let's get going. I need to have words with the management when we're finished with this."


	3. Chapter 2

The headquarters for the Florida branch of our ominously vague agency against the supernatural was located in Davis Island, which was about two hours away from the Tampa Police Department. The case was in their jurisdiction.

It had been years since I had last headed down this way, but the police department hadn't relocated to another address, thankfully. I was already beginning to brood over how this might end up, and following one of my juniors as he brought me to where I needed to be probably wouldn't have made me feel any happier. In any case, I hoped that the police department would be willing to share information--it wasn't that they were incompetent, just that they were out of their depth in something like this.

We didn't go straight to the police department. Instead, I went to my apartment with Janssen following and cleaned myself up--I could show up at the department with my hair mussed and in motorcycle leathers, but it wouldn't give off the kind of impression that I wanted and, quite frankly, I wanted to stack the deck so things would go well. So I took a shower, put on one of my suits, and rode to the department in Janssen's car. Being without my leathers made me feel almost naked and extremely vulnerable, but it was the price that had to be paid. Once we arrived at the police department, I admit, I ended up standing just in front of the car, fidgeting with the buttons of my sleeves and the tie around my neck. 

Give me a break, it had been a while since I had to dress up.

"All right, so we'll go in and ask the front desk to direct us to whoever is in charge of the case and very politely inform him that we've taken up the case and we'd like their cooperation in this matter," I said aloud. Then I sighed. "It's been too long since I've had to do something like this. The best way to remind someone how to swim isn't by throwing them into a lake!"

"Miss Pall, if we're part of a federal agency, then why do we need to inform the police of anything? Can't we just walk in and demand that they hand over the relevant information?"

I sighed again. "We could, yes, but all that would do is raise their hackles and I don't intend to step on any toes that I can avoid. And if we're annoying enough, the information we need may get stuck under bureaucratic red tape. No. I'm not about to let this turn out like Jack the Ripper." With that, I walked across the parking lot and left Janssen to scramble after me.

The police station was pleasantly cool and buzzing, probably due to the recent case. I walked up to the front desk and waited patiently for one of the receptionists to be clear. Once one was, I showed my FBI badge. "Hello, my name is Special Agent Pall and I was hoping you could direct me to whoever was in charge of the Vampire Killer case?"

I swear, it had been a while since I had had a look of resentment that strong aimed at me. "That's Detective McLaughlin. You can find him around the corner there," he pointed down a hallway, "go straight, then take a turn at the water fountain and you'll be right in front of his office."

"Thank you for the help," but he was already back on the phone and ignoring me. Or maybe that last bit was just my paranoia. In any case, we followed the directions to find ourselves in a corridor of offices. On the left hand side was the name Johnson, and on the right hand side, just as the receptionist had said, was the name McLaughlin in gold letters. The door was partially open, and I could see a young man with a shock of bright red hair on his head hunched over his desk. I knocked on the doorframe and he looked up.

Good god, but he was young.

"Detective McLaughlin?"

"Yes, and who are you?" He put down his pen and straightened up in his seat, giving us a wary eye.

I walked through and showed him my badge. "Special Agent Magda Pall from the FBI, this is Special Agent Janssen. Headquarters has been looking over the case and noticed that it fits a pattern with other cases. We came here to retrieve the information that you've gathered and hopefully get some of your insight on the matter."

The young man frowned as I spoke. "Look, you might think that you have a legal right to all this information now that you and your agency have suddenly decided that it's your business—and what, I'm supposed to believe that you're part of the FBI--"

Technically speaking, we weren't part of the FBI. NAPIP—the National Agency for the Protection and Investigation of the Paranormal—had branched off sometime in the '60s, but all NAPIP agents were registered with the FBI in case of just this situation. I pulled out one of my business cards and handed it over. "This has the branch office I work with, and the number, which you can call at any time day or night. Feel free to cross-reference the number and ask them to confirm our identities. I understand that this must be frustrating for you, detective, to be working on this case and suddenly be pulled off of it because some bigwigs decided that you're not good enough or something, but let me assure you that this isn't the case."

"Oh, isn't it."

Ah, cynicism. It'd serve him well in the force. "It isn't," I reiterated, shaking my head. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Janssen's face had a dubious expression on it and spared a moment to glare at him before looking back at the detective. "The problem is that if our suspicions of this case are correct, then the normal police simply aren't equipt to handle it."

"What, you mean you think this person's some terrorist?"

That brought me up short for a second, but it was probably where a lot of Americans' minds would go to if they heard about a federal agency needing to take a hand in things given the political climate. "Not exactly; we believe that he's a serial killer affiliated with a cult and that the person has the means at his disposal to do much greater damage than he has so far. These killings are like warnings to the people that would be watching for him." Which would be us. "The methods he uses may be beyond the detection of a normal police crime lab, which is why we want to take over. I hope you can understand that we want to close this case as quickly as possible and your help in this matter would invaluable."

He didn't seem sure yet, so I threw out the bait. "Of course, because we want to avoid causing any kind of a panic, we'd like to downplay this and any and all credit would go to the City of Tampa Police Department."

That did it. McLaughlin leaned back in his chair. "Well, you'll understand that I'll have to check and make sure you really are who you say you are, but if you really are with the FBI, then I'm required by law to hand over all the case files on this anyway."

Well, yes. "I'm aware of that, but this seemed more polite than just demanding you hand over the case files. Besides that, I'd like it if you kept working on this case--you've been working on it since the beginning, and I think you all have perspective that I don't have on this, especially since you all have seen the crime scenes for yourselves. Photos aren't the same thing."

It was a while before the detective spoke up again. Janssen began fidgeting, but I glared at him until he stopped. A strong, confident front would be necessary if we wanted to pull this off. "You know, " McLaughlin spoke up finally, "You're not the first person from the FBI I've had to deal with. Usually it was some guy whose name started with R. Robertson? Richardson?" He shooked his head, as though to clear it. "Something like that. He was a real pain about things, and he kept demanding stuff out of us like we were his employees. It got a lot of the guys around here pretty angry."

And that was just another reason I needed to punch Richards in the face as hard as I could the next time I saw him.

"You're pretty polite now, but there's no promise that you're going to keep that up. We might be under legal obligation to do what you say, but things might get more... difficult if you change your attitude, understand?"

I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. Besides, it's not like I couldn't sympathize. "I can't speak for the rest of the organization, but I don't like starting interservice fights just for the sake of starting a fight. As I said, all I want to do is solve this case and keep whoever is doing this from killing more people."

Silence fell after that and we stared into each other's eyes. It was a silent battle. And the other fellow blinked first.

"I'll call up the FBI now. If you'll just take a seat?" He gestured to the (stiff, wooden) chairs across the desk from him. I nodded and sat down, gesturing for Janssen to do the same. He raised an eyebrow at me and I smiled sweetly.

Trust me--it wasn't an expression that belonged on my face. I am not a looker in any sense of the term. Those fashion people always want tall and willowy people, right? I'm as stocky and stolid as they come. It's handy for fighting; I mean, being hard to knock over is something I'm grateful for, don't get me wrong. Sometimes I think it'd be nice if I could reach the top shelf without a footstool, though. And besides that, I have a face like a particularly well-worked pit bull.

So yeah, neither Janssen nor McLaughlin were exactly charmed. They might have been intimidated by it, but that didn't exactly bother me. Whatever the case, McLaughlin called up the FBI and checked to make sure that we were legit, which took about an hour, since the agency didn't feel like being helpful. Maybe it was just because NAPIP wasn't formally called in to help very frequently, but I always had the impression that we were a lot speedier at picking up the phone. Once the FBI did pick up and have the time to answer McLaughlin's questions, they did confirm our identities. Or at least that was what I assumed had happened--he was a hell of a lot more willing to be helpful after that.

McLaughlin transferred the case files to the Agency's computers, or so he said. There was just one thing left. "I understand that there was another victim a few nights ago. I was wondering if the body had been released from the county morgue?"

"It hasn't. We're still waiting for the family to pick it up; they were out on vacation at the time and they're still on their way back," McLaughlin explained. "Did you want to have a look at it, then?"

"Yes. I'm hoping that it won't have decayed too much in the morgue and that we might be able to search it for anything that the killer might have left that the normal forensics lab wouldn't have known to look for. Would you mind sending the information to the morgue now so we can head over immediately?"

I'll admit, there probably was a better, more delicate way for me to say that we could do stuff that the police couldn't. But I couldn't think of one, so I just ignored the put-off expression on his face and tried not to cross my arms or put my hands on my hips. If he didn't like Richards being a pompous ass, he probably wouldn't care for me posing around like I had authority over him, whether I did or not. And, to be perfectly honest, I was mostly just pleased that he hadn't opened his mouth and turned it into a race thing.

Once we had our papers in order and such, Janssen and I quickly left the building and headed for the car. Daylight was burning, we still had to have a look at the body, and there was no telling what kind of nastiness the night would bring this time. Neither of us were formally on call, but if a situation was big and bad enough, if wouldn't matter--we would be called out regardless. We needed to get what we had finished while we had the time.

* * *

The county morgue where the city of Tampa keeps all of its corpses is in service to the entirety of Hillsborough County; the full and correct name of it was the Hillsborough County Medical Examiner's Department. They have a section on the Hillsborough County Government's website, where they have the contact information for their Medical Examiner and where they also keep a list of descriptions of unidentified remains, as well as other information relevant to what people may need to know about their purpose and services.

When we arrived at the county morgue, I got the answer I was expecting on my first inquiry--that they didn't have the staffing for viewing the body, and so if I wanted to have a look, then I would have to settle for a photograph. So I brought up option two.

"I can understand staffing issues," I told the person manning the desk, "But it really is important that I get a look at the body myself. I'd like to claim the body and have my team run their own tests on it; we think there may have been some foul play involving chemicals not regularly tested for, and we'd like to check and make sure ourselves."

The receptionist was frowning and had been since the conversation had gone into the territory of not just looking at a picture. "If you want to have tests run, then we would be happy to send the test samples to the lab of your choosing once we've had clearance that you have authority over the case."

"I understand, but this kind of chemical test can only be done by our scientists. We would be very happy if you could send us the body as soon as you've received the necessary information."

"We would be happy to, but there's paperwork we need you to fill out. We can forward the paperwork to your email."

At those words, I stiffen and I could feel my face beginning to heat up. "I, um... my superior's address is-" and here I listed it off, "-and she can forward the information to me." Because I had been in our rather antiquated version of a desk job since before the Internet had become such a necessary part of life. I needed to talk to Bright about getting a laptop. "If you can't show us the body, then can you tell us where the victim's personal effects were taken?"

Those words seem to be the receptionist slightly at ease, or at least the request didn't seem to be as much of a hassle as the previous one. "The victim wasn't found with any personal effects. There was no clothing and investigation at the scene indicates that the person was stripped of it elsewhere before being dumped into the alleyway. The same goes for anything like purses or wallets."

"And did this apply to the other victims of the same modus operandi?"

It took the receptionist only a moment to bring the information up. "Yes, it is. No personal effects of any kind were found at the scene. Is there anything else I can help you with, then?"

"No, that'll be all. Please send that information to our office as quickly as possible." With nothing else to do, we left the county morgue again.

"Well, that was a bust," Janssen remarked as soon as we had gotten into his car again. "We could have just phoned and saved the time."

"Yeah, but it was worth asking anyway." I could feel myself tapping an imaginary gas pedal as he pulled out of the parking lot. "I didn't push because I didn't want to kick up a fuss. If we can get things done quickly the legal way, then that's just as good. In the meantime, what do you think the fact that the victims didn't have any personal items on them mean?"

"It was probably convenient for them to simply keep the personal items with them when they dumped the body and then destroy or dump the items afterwards in a separate location," Janssen responded. "It does bring up the problem of not having something for the psychometrists to try to read off, however."

"Yeah. Whoever this is certainly doesn't want to make things easy on all of us." So much for the case being open-and-shut. I had an idea of what my next move was going to be, but I'd have to wait for Janssen to take me home first--there was no way I was going to have him bringing me to my next stop. "Come on, let's go back to the office. I want to see if there have been any updates with the information from the Tampa PD."

* * *

It was a long day's work, most of it involving sorting through all of the paperwork and autopsy reports, the transcripts of interviews with the families, the personal information of the victims, and diagramming where each victim had been found. There was one tender mercy in the whole thing, and that was that all of the victims had been identified--apparently the murderer had no interest in killing homeless people or the like. Or he had and then had "graduated," but that was a question to ask once he had him in our clutches.

Several of the members--Janssen included, once we had returned--had been sent out to where the victims had been found. I had a feeling they were much more tired than I was, since they had to use those psychic senses of theirs in every spot. It turned out that there was a noticeable "char" to each alley, but--as with DNA testing and fingerprinting--without a suspect to try and take a magical sample from, there was no way to ID who it was unless they were already in the database. Which they weren't, of course. The char was described as something dark and stinking, which could have applied to most types of murderous or harmful magicks. The way they described the smell, though--like rotten eggs, but with a quality that felt like it was filling up the area until their heads were spinning and they were forced to leave... that description tickled something in my mind. I just knew that I had smelled something similar before.

After the day's work, when he had dropped me off at home, I gave Janssen strict orders to go straight home and get some rest. I wasn't exactly feeling fresh as a daisy myself, but I had been putting myself under a lot less physical and mental strain than the kid had, and I had a lot more stamina than him to boot. A quick shower, a meal, and maybe a few minutes of shut-eye, and I'd be ready for the next part of the assignment.

Or I would have been, had I not walked into my apartment and found a familiar head of dark hair and a pair of feathery lavender wings peeking over the top of my couch.

I dropped my keys onto the table beside the door with more force than I needed, and the one on the couch turned enough for me to see him raise an eyebrow. "Was that really called for?"

"Anything to remind you that you're an unwelcome guest is called for," I replied, then promptly ignored him in favor of shrugging out of my coat—padded to give me a bigger silhouette--and hanging it by the door.

He turned himself to watch me, sitting patiently as he waited for me to finish. As you may have guessed from the giant Cupid wings I mentioned, this was an angel, and his name was Ramiel. He was the archangel of lightning, and I was his chosen mortal champion on Earth--something I did not volunteer for, and a position that has a habit of running headlong and working against me when I'm trying to do the job that actually pays me... But what are you going to do, tell God off?

We're not all Jobs.

To be fair, I didn't exactly tell Ramiel that I didn't want to be a warrior of God when we first met--in fact, I was incredibly willing. I left behind everything I knew and loved, all to follow his directions and travel the nation with nothing but the clothes on my back. I was made to watch the suffering that the oppressed went through, because my own wasn't enough, and at the same time I learned to defend myself from the oppressors. I hadn't, at the time, built up my bulldog look that made people think I could just grab them by both ends and break them over my knee like a piece of particleboard, and so those first few encounters had been... rough. To say the least. But that's a story for another time, I think.

"So, what mission do you have for me that's going to have me screaming in terror and running around trying not to get killed this time?"

"I won't hear that tone of voice from you, thank you," he replied primly. "In any case, there's a mission that Simon is on. I'd like you to help him out with completing it."

I thought that over. "You want me to just jump into something like that without details? I have my own responsibilities; I can't just drop something on a dime and betray my own colleagues."

"Simon isn't a colleague as well?"

"He understands that I have my own responsibilities to attend to. In any case, if there's a reason that I won't be able to perform, it would be because I didn't have enough information from you to make a decision." I went through the living room into the kitchen. I have a pretty spacious apartment--my job pays well, though I'm not entirely sure where we get all our money from, and while it might have been nobler of me to have taken up residence in a place that was less roomy and possibly in a worse neighborhood... It was enough for me that I had to sleep with one eye open for demons trying to break into my house. I preferred not having to worry about that on a nightly basis when it came to vanilla human criminals. 

My furniture was pretty bland, I suppose, and so the main feature of the entire apartment was the books. Books lined every wall of the apartment. Not just shelves that were stacked up against the walls of the living room, and maybe my bedroom--they went down the hallway and around the kitchen. I even had some books that would only reveal their contents when wet in the bathroom. They were uninterrupted by gaps from doorways or anything--not even my bedroom. I had removed most of the doors some time ago so I could mount my own homemade shelves around them, creating continuous lines everywhere. Only the bathroom still had its door, but the books, separated though they may have been from the rest, still surrounded the entire room, a closed circle unto itself.

They were part of the very basic defense system that I used to seal my house against the otherworldly--each and every book had sigils I had written onto the back and front covers. Nothing fancy, just the fifth pentacle of Mars and the sigil of Ramiel--prevention of magic crossing over, with the holy power of Ramiel backing it up. Putting the books together in a continuous circle meant that the power was strengthened, but it sure as hell wasn't perfect defense. Higher demons could appear in my house if they wanted; it'd just be a little more difficult and I'd get some advance warning if I was there. With other wards that I had inscribed onto the ceiling and floor, it was the closest I could get to feeling safe. I had absolutely no magical talent whatsoever--I had to use basic defense techniques the best that I could, the same as anyone else in my position, no matter whether the circumstances were supernatural or not. 

I was picking out vegetables for some Cuban sandwiches when I heard the angel finally sigh, and inwardly, I hid a smile of triumph. "It seems that your old friend has taken an interest in another Chosen."

"Which friend is this?"

"The one that threw you out a window," he replied swiftly.

I almost dropped the head of lettuce I had picked up. "Mephistopheles. Again. Are you KIDDING me?"

He gave me an arch look. "Am I really the sort of person to kid about something like that?"

"You're not a person," I shot back without thinking. My mind was too preoccupied with digesting this bit of information, and I left the food on the counter as I tried to organize things.

Mephistopheles and I had met face to face for the first time on a mission several months ago. Not one given by Ramiel, but by a rival of Mephistopheles that I had thwarted (not too many people get to use that word nowadays) several times before. Apparently the "lover of light" had set eyes on a potential deal-maker and that rival had his eyes on the same one. He hadn't wanted the competition, so guess who was hired to pull the kid out of the way so the rival could make his deal instead? If you guessed me, then congratulations. And yes, I'm perfectly aware that a warrior of God making a deal with someone from hell doesn't cast me in the best light, but I know opportunities when I see them. Anyway, I interfered on the date that Mephistopheles was going to get his answer and sent the kid away. The devil didn't take kindly to that and threw me out of a window.

On the 11th floor.

Happily, divine intervention spared me, but you can understand why I was already feeling like a trip to the bathroom was in order. The kid didn't make a deal with anyone, by the way--I scared him off of trying to make stupid deals with otherworldly creatures after that. Needless to say, neither one was particularly happy with me after that, but I got a free favor. With the kind of trouble I get into, that kind of thing was worth the near-death experience.

...But I was a chosen warrior of God, and I had to keep myself above things like that. I closed my eyes and took some deep breaths until the cold feeling and the tremors went away. "All right. What is it I have to do?"

There was a note of pride in Ramiel's voice that warmed me even through the fear. "Just help Samael protect the chosen."

"Is there a reason she can't protect herself?"

"She has been in a coma for a long time. Roughly since the turn of the last century."

I raised an eyebrow at him. "It's a little odd that one of the chosen would manage to survive for so long while in a coma."

He shot me a look. "She is the chosen of Gabriel and a descendant of Salah ad-Din. Samael happened to be present when she was attacked. One of his shots hit her attacker, and Samael saved her."

"I would have thought that Simon would just put her out of her misery," I noted. "Letting someone survive in a coma for so long... he's never struck me as the type to spare someone."

"The Chosen of Samael may not raise a hand against those he is not meant to, nor smite those whom the Father does not intend to have be judged. The Father did not call him to fell her, and so he did not."

"But it doesn't sound like He decreed her survival either," I noted. My hands had finally regained their steadiness as I began to put together the sandwiches. It wasn't long before I was digging in. "Not if she was in a coma for so long."

"There is no way to determine what His plans are," Ramiel scolded, eyeing me from his position. "It may just be that her state of inactivity was part of His design. But it is true," he added, "that the Father gave no such promise or any call for her survival. It was Gabriel that did not wish to let go."

"Why? Is she that special?"

"To him, yes." The angel put a hand on his chin, as though trying to think. "Gabriel is… attached to Muslims. To a certain group in particular, as of late. You could say that they are his chosen people, as the tribes of Israel are the chosen people of Michael. What with the troubles that they have endured..."

"So what, he's constantly trying to make up for it?" Or at least that's what I tried to say; it was hard speaking around a mouthful of cheesy, meaty goodness. Ramiel either understood what I said, though, or he wasn't paying attention, because he didn't ask me to repeat myself. So I continued. "That's oddly... responsible of him."

Pale blue eyes the color of the winter sky gazed at me steadily. "Oddly?"

I shrugged and chose not to elaborate. "So is this woman a danger? Even if she wakes up from her coma, she won't be much of a physical threat. It would take a long time for her to go through physical therapy to recover even a fraction of her strength."  
"She isn't a physical warrior. As a descendant of Salah ad-Din, the Chosen of Gabriel is unusually charismatic, and all of them have a gift for speech. If nothing else, they make for unparalleled orators, and if they have an interest in a field involving convincing others..."

"The perfect set-up for a politician," I commented, before taking another bite and chewing thoughtfully. "Maybe she was put to sleep so that she would be around now to talk to the politicians about helping out this group or something."

"It is certainly a possibility I would grant," Ramiel replied. "Though I somehow doubt that she will appreciate what she underwent to fall into such a state, if she ever does wake up."

"Is it physical damage that she suffered?"

He waggled his head from side to side. "Yes and no. It was a battle zone, so she probably endured psychological damage, but further information on that is outside of my jurisdiction. I do suspect that part of the reason she fell into a coma was because of that trauma. What I do know, though, is that she did suffer some serious injury with a chance shot from one of the attackers. So her body also fell dormant to help her gain the energy to heal herself from that."

"Is she going to be able to?" I raised an eyebrow. "I mean, these healing abilities of ours have limitations, don't they? It isn't like one of those--" I freed one of my hands from my food to flick out my fingers disdainfully, "--story things where people heal instantly. If the damage was too much…"

"Sometimes miracles happen," Ramiel replied, though the expression on his face and the dry tone he was using made me take that comment with a grain of salt. "In any case, it seems that whatever measures Gabriel set up to try and protect the woman from active harm has disappeared or been broken."

"If other Chosen are getting involved, then does that mean that other angels are beginning to interfere?"

He shrugged slightly. "I was instructed by the Father to hand down these orders to you; the others may have been commanded by Him. Then again, maybe not. I really have no idea."

"You're a help," I said dryly. "When does all this start?"

"The Chosen will arrive in Florida within the next few days. Samael will be set-up to handle any threats that they may encounter on the way, but once he and his companion have settled into their bolt hole, they will require your help if they wish to survive long enough for the Chosen of Gabriel to have her protections reconstructed."

I finished my food and let out a long, deep breath of contentment. Then I said, "I have my own obligations to try and serve as well."

"The matter of this vampiric killer."

"I... yes." I shouldn't have been surprised--nosy angels and all. "I still need to talk with the others to see what kinds of connections we've found, plus go over any leads that Blake might have dug up, and there's the matter of the analysis of the most recent corpse, too." I considered the matter and how to balance things out. "I can probably delegate most of that. Maybe I can get a map and some information together and Simon can help me to figure out if there's a kind of pattern--not telling me outright," I added quickly, seeing that Ramiel was about to protest, "But just lending me the benefit of his experience to help me figure out where the killer might attack next and who the next victim might be. I'll be able to help keep watch over this girl and still help to stop this person before he unleashes whatever menace he's planning."

Ramiel gave a slow nod of agreement. "It is an adequate compromise."

"Still," I said slowly, mulling this information over with what I had gathered over the day. "I still don't understand why a vampire would try and perform a ritual here--if it wants to become a Nosferatu, then they'll be especially weak performing a ritual here. It would have been better for them if they had cast it in… I don't know… the Midwest or something?"

"Keep thinking on that," Ramiel suggested. "The reason why this monster is doing this in this particular location may be as important as what he must accomplish do to complete it."

I nodded and got up, stuffing the last bite into my mouth. "Please tell Simon to send me a time and location to meet up with him at. I want to find out ahead of time so I'll be able to alert my subordinates." 

Ramiel nodded and then disappeared, as though he had never been there.


	4. Chapter 3

Over the next few days, my team and I pored over the information we received from the police department, something that was much easier once I finally got a work computer. From the information the police had already gone through, it seemed that the killer had been targeting people from military families. Even more interesting, the police had found out that all of the victims had been associated with a church that was on MacDill Air Force Base. Other than that, however, there didn't seem to be any pattern to the victims--they were from all ages, male and female, and all races. The victims had been narrowed down, but without more information, we wouldn't be able to narrow the pool further to get an idea of who the next victim would be, and without that, it was impractical to try to keep an eye on the church members. The police had attempted to talk to the pastor, but he had been out of town for a family emergency. I made a note to call out the branch in that neck of the woods and have them talk to him.

Besides that, we had had several psychometrists check out the sites where the bodies had been found, as well as the body we had received from the county morgue. Nothing. Every one of locations, as well as the body, had been wiped clean, like someone wiping fingerprints. Which wasn't good, because it meant that the killer knew what we were looking for and was strong enough to wipe his or her energies.

After that, we ended up spending a lot of time in one of the briefing rooms, trying to peg together what we had found from the psychometry tests, the police observations, and the killer's MO into something with meaning. The significance of the locations, at least, was easy enough to put together. "A hexagram," I said, drawing the six-pointed star over the area map we had pinned to the corkboard. "So in all likeliness, this is probably some kind of magic ritual."

"I can see how you've become a veteran agent," one of the group members spoke up. Without looking, I grabbed a nearby marker and tossed it in the offender's general direction before continuing on.

"What's noticeable here, ladies and gentlemen, is that it is a hexagram being used, and not a pentagram., the usual symbol. It could be that they needed a hexagram for the number of points--since whoever it is seems to be aiming for All Saints' Day or close to it, there's probably a fair chance that this is either an association with Christianity or European pagan religion. I can't speak for the later, but I do know that in Biblical numerology, the number 6 is associated with both man and the Devil. Anyone here a numerologist?"

For those of you wonder what I'm talking about, I'll explain: basically, when a person uses a magic circle with a shape in it, like a triangle or a star, what the shape is can reflect the intention behind the circle, though this would be at the most basic--for example, if a person were summoning a common demon, they would use a pentagram, not necessarily a hexagram, and there would be additional writing around the circle to clarify the user's intentions. There are also religious or psychological associations with certain shapes, but that's a discussion for another time. The association between the number 6 and the Devil is fairly easy to deduce, in any case.

This time it was another woman that answered. Mashiro, if I remembered correctly. "From what I've read about Western numerology, there is an association between the number 6 and the Goddess in nature religions, but I cannot say how correct this is. There is also an association with the planet Venus in some Kabbalistic systems and in the Indian numerology system; however, the number is also associated with positive and fortunate outcomes. In the Yijing, though, the number 6 is associated with yin and therefore the earth, but Chinese culture links it to being good for business."

I waited for anyone else to speak up, but there was only silence. I rubbed at my back absently. "All right. From the nature of the ritual, I really think we should associate this more strongly with Christianity. I'd like some more research done on the numerology, but for the time being, it looks like the number 6 has too many positive associations in other cultures."

"If that's true, then the next time a body's going to be dumped will be in this area." On the map, I marked off where the sixth point of the hexagram would be. "I want eyes there. Whoever it is, they'll probably want to scout the place out and make sure no one's there before they drop the body off. So you, you, and you--" I jabbed my pen at three of the plainsclothes guys, "--I want you guys on the ground there, okay? Makris, you use remote viewing and see if you can get any idea of where the dropoff point might be-"

"It's a bit late for that." The door swung open the rest of the way as Richards stepped through. "Another person's gone missing. Same church and from a military background. We're too late." There was a distinct look of contempt in his eyes when he looked at me.

"It's not too late. If we can find whoever it is before they kill her... Whitehorst! Roselawn! Go to the station and get in touch with the missing person's family, friends, whatever! I want their personal items brought here so we can use it to track them!" The two women sat bolt upright as I spoke and one of them went pale, but they both nodded and hurried out of the door.

Had to think, had to think...

Richards took one of their evacuated seats. "Even if you don't stop the murder and this ritual's complete, you should be able to find the Nosferatu easily enough, right? You may as well calm down."

"I am calm," I retorted, glowering at him. "But we can't all be as blasé as you when it comes to the potential loss of a life; some of us are human beings."

I really think the only reason he didn't launch himself over the table to try and strangle me was because he was too busy trying to burn me to death with his eyes. A hand touched my arm; it belonged to Blake. "Pall. Come on, you've been in this room for too long. Why don't you get some lunch and think things through?"

What I wanted to do was stay in that room and just have it out with Richards until it was clear who was going to be on top. But I wasn't going to give that worm the satisfaction of knowing he'd gotten under my skin, and that snooty look on his face told me he'd be very satisfied indeed. What I said was, "Yeah, that's a good idea." I took a deep breath in and then released it. "All right, guys, why don't we all take a bit to break for lunch. Roselawn, Whitehorst, I still want you two getting the information; I expect news when I get back from eating." The two of them nodded.

In a loose sort of unison, everyone got out of their chairs and started making their way to the door. I stared at the map for a bit longer before letting the geomancers get a handle of things and heading out to get some food on my own.

On my way to the cafeteria, I ended up spotting that bastard, just strolling along. Not important. I told McLaughlin that I didn't like getting into pissing contests and I meant that, so I just took nice, deep breaths and walked down the corridor a little faster, passing by him.

"Hey! Hey!" What, did he think I was going to heel? I didn't bother slowing down, forcing him to run after me. "I need to talk to you!"

"Do you use that tone on all your superiors?" I asked, looking back at him. I didn't miss the tightening of his jaw at the word "superiors," but again, it was really something he was going to have to get used to. "Is there something I can help you with, or did you just call me out to bother me some more?"

"Don't give me that crap," he snarled into my face. We had stopped walking at this point and I stood my ground, not even leaning back as he got into my personal space. "If you have something to say to me, then say it to my face."

I took a moment to think about that, then nodded. "Fine. Despite you coming highly recommended by your superiors, I haven't seen anything out of you that I wouldn't expect to see from any hunter doing what he's supposed to be, which makes me think that our hiring standards have gone down. You haven't shown initiative except when it comes to belittling me, demeaning me, and generally being so insubordinate that I would have no problem having you fired for your behavior. There is nothing special about you, and I don't know if you just expect me to fall at your feet like everyone else in this place, but until you show me that you're worthy of being considered the best damn hunter in the organization, I'm going to treat you like the spoiled brat that you are. And when we're in that room? You're going to give me the proper respect due to the agent in charge of the investigation, you understand?"

He glowered at me from behind his spectacles. "I'm not being disrespectful. I'm paying you exactly the amount of respect you're owed as a desk jockey! I could do this job twice as good as you with my eyes closed!"

"What a great line! Did you steal it from some other hunt--"

The sentence was cut off by him taking a swing at me, which was followed by me catching his fist, twisting to lock his elbow, and forcing him against the wall. I pressed my arm against his back, both pinning him down and putting myself in his face. "Listen to me, Beto," I started, pushing down a little harder when he struggled to get away. Stubborn jerk. "Listen to me! I'm not going to drop myself off this case just because you're a douche. I've been through events that would turn your nice, well-coiffed hair white from terror, no matter how big of a man you think you are. I am your senior, and I've earned enough respect during my time in this organization that you don't get to talk down to me like some bug. If you want prove that you're as good an agent as you think you are, then you need to learn to sit back and accept when your bosses have decided you aren't ready for something. You think you're ready to lead? You say that you could solve this all so quickly, but I haven't seen a bit of that kind of ability from you, and if you're holding back out of spite for not being picked, then you just proved that the bosses were absolutely right in thinking you didn't have the maturity to handle things." I ignored how he was starting to bristle. "I've read your file. You used to be in the military, right?"

"Right." He looked sullenly off to the side. "I was let out on an honorable discharge for medical concerns."

"Anemia, right?" There was a quick glance back to me, as though surprised that either the file had mentioned it or that I had bothered reading that part. "For someone anemic, you certainly like pushing yourself. I checked your health records here too; you've been sent to the clinic several times over the last year."

He shoved himself away from the wall and I backed up to give him some room. He straightened his jacket. " I don't need you telling me what's best for me; I know what my limits are!"

"Well, clearly not, if you've made getting yourself sent to the hospital a regular habit..."

"Shut it, you goddamn--" He spouted off a few other words that don't bear repeating, and then decided to take another swing at me. Once again, I grabbed his arm and swung him into the wall, this time facefirst.

"Also, if you really want to pick a fight with someone, make sure you can kick their ass first. I expect you to be on your best behavior when we get back into the room." With that, I let him go and headed for the cafeteria, pushing pass the crowd of onlookers as though nothing had happened.

* * *

In the cafeteria, I didn't bother grabbing a tray and instead just picked up a wrapped sandwich and a cold drink. Once I had gone through the line and paid for my lunch, I headed for the back of the cafeteria, where I could leave and find a place to eat in peace.   
Unfortunately, that wasn't to be.

"Hey, Pall! C'mere!"

With a sigh, I looked around to find Blake nearly knocking over the table in his enthusiasm, waving me over. I rolled my eyes a little, but made my way over.

"Pall, good of you to join us!' There were two others sitting with him, one of them one of the other members of the investigative team I had put together and another one a man I vaguely remembered from the agency's filing room. Hunter was beaming broadly as he scooted over to make a place for me.

I reluctantly sat down and put my food on the table. "Thank you, I think. Was there something that you needed?"

"Nope, just thought that you looked a bit lonely heading out to eat by yourself. You need to have more fun, Pall!"

That got a scowl out of me. "I have fun. I just don't have it here."

"That's what I mean," he said patiently, as though speaking to a small child. I bristled, though the idiot didn't seem to notice. "You take things way too seriously here! You need to learn to mix a little fun into it or one of these days you're just going to keel over from a heart attack!"

"Leave the woman alone, Blake," the filing room man ordered. "If Pall doesn't want to be a goof-off like you, that's her business."

"I am not a goof-off!"

"Oh? Then what was that little "adjustment" you made to Richards' bike the other day??"

I had been taking a bite of my sandwich, but now I choked on it. I washed it down with a quick swig of soda and gasped out, "That was you?" Apparently while Richards had been away from his bike, SOMEONE had spraypainted the whole thing an eye-searing highlighter pink.

"Sh-sh-sh!' He waved his arms frantically, gesturing for the both of us to stay quiet. "Don't say that out loud! You never know if he's around to hear, that sneaky jerk! Do you want me to get in trouble?"

"Yes," was the flat response.

I took a swig from my soda again. "You'd deserve it for messing with his bike, Blake. That's going way across the line." A person's bike was sacred, dammit. If I had found out that someone had touched my bike while I was away, I would have ended up hunting the person down and breaking their hands.

"Come on, it's nothing that big! Besides, the guy has an even bigger stick up his butt than you do, Pall. ...Er, no offense."

I glowered at him for a moment before returning to my sandwich. "None taken. This time."

"Lay off of Richards, man," the other member of the team joined in. Simms, another hunter, if I recalled correctly (which I always did). "He's had a hard time adjusting to being here."

"It's been a year, from what I understand," I pointed out between bites of sandwich. "You'd think that'd be enough time for him to adjust out of the military."

"Right, what Pall said. Anyway, that guy has serious issues besides just having a stick up his butt. Have you noticed how he looks at everyone like they're stupid?"

That got a snort out of the filing room man. "You are stupid, Blake."

"Hey!"

"I have to agree with Blake. God help me." Which got another indignant squawk out of the younger man. "I'm getting really tired of Richards mouthing off to me during our meetings. I don't know where he's from or what's his problem, but if he doesn't clean up his act soon, I'm going to take it to the boss to suggest he get taken off active duty until he gets his problems sorted away."

Which set off Hunter waving his hands around again. What was he, part-fowl? "Whoa, whoa, isn't that going a little far?"

I shook my head. "This can't be the first time that he's been put under someone else's command. If he's had a habit of acting out when he's not working for himself, then that's one problem and I'm sure that the boss would take care of it, but that's not it. His records didn't have any comments about having a problem with authority, unless they just haven't been telling the boss about it. But if he has reasons not to work with me that aren't good ones--and I have a feeling they aren't, given the little explosion he had after the meeting--then he needs to get those problems dealt with."

"What explosion?"

"He yelled at me for disrespecting him, I told him to stop acting like a spoiled brat and treat me with respect first. Then he had words to say about me being Puerto Rican and not being from a rich family," I said in my most deadpan voice. "Needless to say, I think he has some issues that are going to be troublesome if he doesn't want to work with Latinos and people that actually had to work for a living, especially here in Florida."

Blake scowled at me, then looked down and picked at his food. He mumbled something just under my hearing.

"I'm sorry?"

"I said, lay off the guy, all right?" the younger man spoke in a louder voice, looking up and meeting my eyes. "He's had a hard life, you don't need to rub things in."

"Oh, yes, I'm sure he's had a very hard life." I followed it with a snort. "Going to good schools, having food on the table without having to worry about whether you're going to have more in the morning, not having to worry about people thinking that you're a cheap piece of tail and they just need to gang up on you to get a taste--yeah, I'm sure he's had loads of trouble."

The younger agent threw down his fork. "You see? You're just as bad as he is! You just go off and make assumptions of people just because they're white or whatever and you don't care about what they might have gone through?"

I raised an eyebrow at him. "Well, am I wrong about what I said? Is he from the streets?"

"Well, no, but that's not--"

"Then I'm not going to apologize for what I said," I told him. "Richards might have gone through his own shit, but unless he had to live on the streets, dumpster dive for his food and be constantly on the move for years while fighting against monsters? Unless he had any troubles other than whatever he thinks is hard because it wasn't handed to him because of his privileged background, I don't want to hear it." With that, I attacked my sandwich, tearing off chunks and barely chewing the pieces enough to make it down without choking. At this point, Blake was just glowering at me, but I ignored him. Break time was over.

* * *

It was a long, long day after that.

"Stationing more people on the lookout is a waste of manpower. I'm telling you, it's too late to save her, we need to start preparing for the Nosferatu," Richards argued. "We need to save who we can instead of risking people on a gamble by you."

I thumped the map, in the center of the hexagram. "It might be a gamble, but it's worth a look. Depending on how long the murderer takes with this victim, then either this will be the final sacrifice or there'll be another one closer to or on Halloween. I can almost guarantee that either the mutilation is occurring at the center of the hexagram, or the final sacrifice is going to take place or be dropped off there. It's worth having a look at the area, at the very least."

"Just because of a hunch of yours?"

"Listen, you brat, I've been working for this agency since the '80s. I have hundreds of hours more field time than you, both as an agent and freelance, and I know what I'm talking about! I've seen this done thousands of times before!" I hit the center of the hexagram hard enough to puncture the paper. "Whoever it is, they won't be doing the mutilations outside of the hexagram! The power they want is in the blood; that's why the bodies don't have any in them, that's why the magic circles were drawn in blood, and that's why whatever they're doing is probably going on in the center of the hexagram--the blood they spill is what empowers the circle. This is the shortest point from all directions!"

"They've already outsmarted you with keeping the personal items separate from the victims and dumping the bodies without leaving a trace, so why wouldn't they be smart enough to avoid the center of the circle just because you think that's where they're going to be?"

The rest of the meeting was exactly the same and I think everyone was happy when I called it off and told them to go home, though not without assigning Roselawn and Whitehorst, who had returned from the station and brought back some potential items to use for tracking, to go right back out and check the area around the center to see if they picked up any evil energies.

I was picking up after them all, since everyone had so very graciously left all their trash in the room, when someone I vaguely recognized as the boss's secretary poked his head in. "Yeah?"

"Agent Pall?"

"Yes. Skip the pleasantries, please?" I dumped an armful of soda cans into one of the labeled recycling bins and brushed myself off.

"Agent Bright would like to see you before you leave for home today."

Of course she did. "I'll be right there after I finish cleaning up," I told him, nodding toward the meeting room. He gave a little bow and disappeared again, and I sighed.

This couldn't be good.

And of course, I was right.

"Pall, what's this I heard about you manhandling Richards in the corridors?"

I took a deep breath and tried not to slouch in my seat under her intense gaze. "Richards was disrespecting me during the meeting today. He's been at it for the last several days, and this afternoon he confronted me on the issue."

"And this confrontation required shoving him up against the wall?" If the boss's tone were any drier, I would have compared it to the Sahara.

I returned her question in a dry tone of my own. "He insulted me several times and then tried to attack me. I defended myself."

"What happened?"

I repeated the slurs he had launched at me towards the end. "And he called me a desk jockey too," I added, almost as an afterthought.

Bright sighed and rubbed her forehead. "I see that time hasn't sweetened your temper at all. Do you honestly think assaulting your coworkers--even when you think you're justified--is commendable behavior?"

"Well, no. But I don't exactly appreciate that--" Don't swear, don't swear, "--upstart insulting me to my face like that. He said that he was paying me all the respect I deserved. I've been going on hunts since before he was conceived, where does he get off on making judgments about my capabilities? He's only been at this branch for less time that I've spent recovering from England, he's never even seen me do work, and he thinks that--"

"Pall!"

I ignored her, the words rushing up and out whether I wanted them to or not. "He can just decide that I'm trash just because I'm Puerto Rican and I wasn't born with a silver spoon in my mouth-"

"PALL!"

That finally stopped me short and I sat there for a moment, panting for breath. Bright stared me down again before speaking.

"Pall, your command of the investigation so far as been adequate, but you and Richards both need to get this mess behind you settled before the end of it, or I'm going to keep you at deskwork. You used to be a leader; I know you have a lot of personal issues, but you need to remember to box them up and keep them out of the workplace. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"All right. I'm letting you off with a warning this time, but the next time you and Richards, or anyone else, have a go at each other, I want you to find a way to solve the situation amicably and without damage to my walls. Understand me? Prove to me that your time on recovery hasn't rusted your skills and that you can still act without letting your emotions cloud things."

I nodded and fidgeted. "Is that all, boss?"

She looked at me for a long moment, then nodded. As I stood up, she added, "I'll be having a talk with Richards in the morning about his own conduct. Afterwards, I want the two of you shaking hands and agreeing to work together for the sake of the mission, understand?"

"Yes, ma'am." With that, she made a small gesture of dismissal. "Ma'am? A request?"

"Yes, what it is?"

"It's about the mission. Well, sort of." Bright raised an eyebrow at me, trying to decipher what I was babbling around. I stopped fidgeting and took a deep breath before speaking again. "I'd like to... outsource some of the information for interpretation?"

"Oh?" A calculating expression settled on her face. "You mean Swann, don't you?"

I nodded. "Yes, ma'am. She's been very helpful to me in previous investigations; I think that she would be a great help in trying to figure out what the magic circle that we've traced out may be intended for."

"Mmm." She tapped her fingers against her desk. "We'll see. I'll think it over tonight and have an answer for you tomorrow, no earlier."

Better than I had hoped. I tried not to smile as I bowed to her--the expression had always hurt ever since I had gotten a Chelsea grin. But my work was finished for the day--time to clock out and go home.


	5. Chapter 4

I was at the apartment picking up what I needed that my cell phone rang. I picked up without checking the number. "Pall."

"I see that your manners haven't improved since the last time we spoke," someone said from the other end of the line. The language was Aramaic.

"It's been a crap day. Give me a second to make sure no one snuck in any bugs while I wasn't looking, alright?" I told him, switching to Church Latin. I left the cell phone on the coffee table while I quickly, but thoroughly looking over the apartment to see if there was anything out of place. Nothing.

"Have you ever considered having your head examined?" was what I heard when I got back on the phone. "You could use some therapy for that paranoia of yours."

"It's not paranoia if what you're afraid of has happened before. Which it has and probably will again, given that you're talking to me in a language other than English. Or that you're talking to me at all."

"Fair enough." There was the sound of someone exhaling either into or near the mouthpiece. "I'll be heading into Florida and there's a job I'd like your help with."

"I know, Ramiel already filled me in," I said immediately. "I'm actually a bit glad that you've contacted me. I'm working on a case regarding a serial killer that needs to be resolved quickly. I was hoping that I could ask you for advice regarding how to track the bastard down."

There was a pause before he answered, "It sounds fair enough. I'll send a message with the details on a meeting place later; bring the information you want me to look over with you."

I could tell he was about to hang up on me, so I blurted out, "I won't be able to stay with you the whole time."

"...Do tell."

"Like I said, I need to work on this case with the serial killer. I understand that protecting Gabriel's is a huge responsibility and I'm willing to help out, but right now, it's my personal responsibility to try and solve this case and minimize the loss of life in the near-future, which is exactly what's going to happen if whoever it is pulls this stupid crap off and becomes a vampire."

"And you don't believe that the life of one of the Chosen is more important than this? The great battle between good and evil and all that?"

That got a snort out of me. "No one life is more important than another. Depending on how much help you can give me and how quickly I can solve this case and wrap it up? That'll decide out how much help I'll be able to give you in return."

"Tit for tat, then. We'll see what happens."

"That isn't--" A click on the other end told me that the bastard had already hung up on me. I glowered at the phone for a moment before growling and snapping it shut.

* * *

With my pleasant little conversation with Simon finished, I went back to what I was doing, which was bringing my riot gear over to Priya's place. Since I have a motorcycle and not a car, this meant putting the helmet and chest piece into a backpack to make a bulky, heavy package. The trouble would be worth it, though.

While the Agency that I work for employs witches of its own, I had never found spells as strong or cast as well as the ones done by Priya Swann. We had met under interesting circumstances--she had been selling spell ingredients to warlocks, I had been assigned by the Agency to "convince" her to do otherwise. Since I have no magical talent and I didn't feel like getting my head blown off, I figured the best way was diplomacy, except it turned out that she didn't agree. What followed was one of the more unpleasant experiences in my life: a group of warlocks came into the shop for the same reason I did but with much less peaceful intentions, and Priya declared a trial by combat. I kicked warlock ass, but I ended up losing control of myself because of a spell and I nearly ended up murdering them. She stopped me. Just for that I would have owed her, but we ended up getting along well enough afterward that we decided to become business partners: I help her with gathering some of her more dangerous ingredients that come from Florida and play bouncer in her shop when she has "trouble," and she refreshes the enchantments on my body armor and gives me information on magical rituals.

You would think that just anyone could have given me that information--or just any witch, anyway. But Priya had been around since at least the twelfth century, and that was only as far back as her paper trail went. She had seen more things than possibly any other living being on this earth, except for a select few of which I was aware. If this was an arcane magic ritual, she would almost certainly be able to identify it.

Knowing how long renewing the sigils would take, I intended to just drop my stuff off and spend the rest of the time in a nearby restaurant that had Wi-Fi, getting dinner and checking out my new computer. I had made sure that Blake and the others would keep me updated on any progress or clues they might find while they were out checking the areas of interest. That day was a true autumn day, with the temperatures low and the breeze refreshing. It was definitely something to be grateful for if you ride a motorcycle. A quick half an hour later and I was pulling into the parking lot of Priya's shop.

The shop was a small, squat building with only one window with heavy, dark curtains to keep out the sunlight. It might also have been so the lettering on the window--declaring the ownership of the shop and its trade--showed up more easily. I locked up my motorcycle, adjusted the straps of the backpack, and grabbed the rest of my gear before trudging over to the door. It took a second for me to get a hand free to open it.

Inside, as usual, the shop reeked of incense--today's scent was lavender, and the smell was heavy in the air. I don't mind incense any more than the next person, but less is more, especially with the more cloying scents. The interior was brightened by white light bulbs strategically positioned through the shop to maximize the area lit. The center of shop was filled with rows of display cases filled with tarot cards, athames, wands, jewelry, and other ritual items, while along each wall were shelves of books, from an introduction to Wicca to something that was titled with some kind of runes.

In the back of the room, behind the register, sat the woman I was looking for. Priya was one of those nicely curvy women that men loved. She was a bit shorter than me, with darker skin and straight, dark hair that was pulled back into a loose knot in the back of her head. Her eyes were a watery pale green and wide-set on her face. Every time I've visited her, I had the distinct and uncomfortable feeling she was staring through me instead of at me.

I like Priya, but she still creeps me out.

At the moment, she was peering at me from where she was sitting, giving no indication she intended to see what I was here for. I decided to take the first move and I held up the untidy pile of gear pieces in my arms. "I have a job."

"So I see." Smooth as honey in, I don't know, warm milk? Wine? Something like that. I'm sure Priya was the sort of person who's never had trouble bewitching men, just with that voice of hers. She shifted off of the stool she was sitting on, her loose clothing rippling like water with the movement. "Your armor?"

"Yes. And something else too." At the questioning lift of her eyebrow, I nodded toward her backroom. Her eyes narrowed and she was silent for a moment before nodding.

"Lock the door and flip the sign before you bring that back here." With that, she spun on her heel and slipped into the backroom. I did as she asked me and felt a small breeze pass by my face, but there was no hint of the cause until I followed her into the backroom and closed the door.

As soon as I did so, loose papers were lifted into a slow circle before a small young thing in what could have been a classical ballet tutu appeared. She was somewhere between the height of a child and a teenage girl, with gracefully coltish limbs that couldn't have belonged to any human of either age. Her skin was incredibly pale, with just enough color that she looked like a living, breathing thing instead of a corpse. The short blue-almost-white curls that surrounded her cherubic face seemed to cast their own light. The boundaries of her feet were vague enough that I couldn't tell if she was wearing shoes or going barefoot.

She looked at me, already wearing a smile broad enough to almost split her face in half. "Miss Pall! It's been so long since you've come to visit!" And then she jumped right onto me, embracing my waist as tight as she could.

I let out a very undignified yelp and wobbled as I tried to keep my balance--damn, but she could cling! "I'm, er, happy to see you too, Anemone." I patted her head and, satisfied, she released me and hopped up onto the table Priya was clearing for me, landing without a noise and perching comfortably so she could watch what was happening.

I went over and dropped the gear down on the table none-too-gently. While I struggled to get the helmet and the chest piece out of the bag, she arranged the other parts as she pleased. After a moment of examination, she frowned and removed the plates--which were covered in runes--from the rest of the vest. The plating was cracked and blackened. "What did you do?"

"I got thrown out a window by a demon."

She gave me a sour look.

I tried not to flinch. "It was an archdemon, okay?"

"And I suppose that getting away from the demon or attacking it in turn were not options?"

"I… um. It was too strong for that." The look in her eyes was getting increasingly intense and I could feel myself starting to twitch toward the door. I wanted to just make something up, but as I tried to stitch together something--anything--else to say, I ended up telling the truth anyway. "I sort of… got attacked by Mephistopheles."

There was a very long pause and I glanced up at her. She had lost all expression and was staring at me with nearly every muscle in her face frozen. The only exception was her eyes, which were widening. After a moment, she recovered slightly and her mouth worked open for a moment, then finally, "You… you fought against Mephistopheles?"

"Not fought so much as someone told me that someone else might be getting into a deal with a demon, and hired me to prevent it. I showed up to talk the person out of it and then the demon showed up and no one told me who the demon in question was going to be."

"And then he just threw you out the window?"

"Well, no. First I sprayed him with holy water and then he threw me out a window."

She pursed her lips. "I mean, that seems rather simple for him."

"It was a very high window."

"And you survived…?"

"…By the grace of God?" I tried to shrug it off, making my face look as innocent as possible. I got another look for that, but whatever had made me feel like having a telling fit, it had worn off and I managed to wander away to the other side of the room, away from the witch and anything that could make me try to speak up. Priya shook her head before taking out her carving tool and beginning to remove the plates; presumably she was going to replace them with new ones or something. "So the armor isn't the only thing that I need your help on."

"Oh?"

"Have you heard about a serial killer running around here?" At that, Priya paused, a distant look on her face, and then nodded. "It seems that a pattern's been forming with the murders. I thought that you might have an idea of what might be going on. Or have some thoughts that could help to figure out what's happening?"

"I might," Priya answered. She finished pulling out the plates from the torso body armor and began measuring them. "Can you give me some information?"

"Will you help the murderer if I do?"

There was a quiet snort and she stared at me with a steady gaze before taking the chisel and piercing the center of the palm of her other hand with it. Then she held it up, as though in court. "I swear on my blood that I will not aid this person, whoever it may be, and I will work to the best of my ability to help you in capturing him."

I took that in for a moment before nodding and taking out the file that I had brought with me from the Agency. I had gone through the information and taken notes over what I thought was pertinent. "There have been several murders since late September of this year. There's no pattern to when the victims are kidnapped that we can see, or to how long between the time of disappearance and the reappearance of the body. So far there have been five murders; all of the people were out of their houses for various reasons, from clubbing to grocery shopping. All of them were over the age of 18, were in the military, and went to the same church on MacDill. Victims were both male and female and were all races as well. We still have to question the chaplain and the commanding offers for evidence of a pattern, but we don't see one yet. It's been suggested that there will be a final sacrifice around Halloween, but there's no indication for what. MO suggests that it's a vampire that wants to become a Nosferatu."

"And what was the _modus operand_ i?"

"Disembowelment followed by ripping open the throat. There was foreign DNA at the neck wounds that, together with the edges of the wounds, indicates that someone may have been eating or chewing at them as well. The bodies were dropped off in empty alleyways, devoid of any personal items, and a magic circle was drawn at each spot with the victim's blood. The bodies were exsanguinated. Psychometrists have been unable to find any trace of energy which could lead us to the killer." I took the photos of the crime scenes out and went over to the table to lay them down where she could see them clearly.

Priya looked at the pages while she worked on… metal plates? She stopped in her work. "Huh."

"What?" I looked at the book. "What is it?"

"I must admit, it has been quite some time since I have seen this recipe. And here I was maintaining some hope that you all had learned not to stoop this low."

"Terrific to hear. Do you know who it is then?"

The Indian woman suddenly looked as warm and inviting as stone. "It is too dangerous to give the information to you directly."

No. No, she was not doing this to me, not if she could help me close the case that much faster, dammit-- "You said that you'd help me!"

"To the best of my ability," she reminded. "I have the information, but even if I gave it to you, it would be meaningless coming from you at this point in time. That is simply a fact."

"So that's it?" I demanded. "They've already taken another victim, dammit! Are you just going to stand there and let her be murdered?" I opened my mouth to say something more, but she turned to me with such a look that the words caught in my throat and I couldn't breathe.

"I did not say that I would leave the matter at that," Priya said quietly. "If you wish to accuse this person, then you will need to gather evidence to build up the case with. While I cannot give you the name directly, I may indeed point you in the proper direction. Do not make presumptions about me again." She turned away, releasing me from her gaze, and I took a few shaky breaths as I tried to calm down. I could hear a low buzzing noise, though I couldn't place what it might be. Then I finally caught my breath and I could make out the sounds--Priya had still been talking.

"Say that again, please?"

"I said, I would support your idea of checking the Red Room--you are correct that this person wishes to become a vampire, and so most likely he's shown his face there at some point or another. Seda may give you an idea of who to look for, at the very least."

"It was on the agenda already."

"Ah." There was a thoughtful look on her face. "More importantly, I would talk to the police again. By the information they passed to you, they didn't talk to the chaplain yet, correct? That seems strange."

I stared at her. "Are you telling me that right after I asked them not to pull an interagency pissing contest on me, they went and did it anyway?"

"Language." Priya shook her head. "They have a very good reason not to pass the information onto you, but you will need to convince them otherwise if you wish to discover the identity of this person in time for Vetrnaetr. Whether you will be able to make use of the information in time is up to you. Now, is there anything else that I can help you with?"

"Can you give me more information on the ritual?" I pushed myself to my feet, eyeing the witch.

"It is well within my abilities. Given the time frame you mentioned... well. Many cultures associate this time of year with the idea that at this point in time, the barrier between this world and the next is very thin.

"The writing looks as if it were from Kabbalistic magic, so this may be from one of the Keys of Solomon. It may also be from something by Crowley. I would say that it’s a summoning circle for one of the demons--a greater demon, I would guess, though I need to check with my books to determine which one specifically. I've never had much of an interest in summoning things." She continued scratching the runes into the metal plates.

"And what about the circles?"

"Forming a hexagram. Nothing more, nothing less. I do agree that a final sacrifice will take place roughly in that time frame, most likely on the 31st of October or the 1st of November, in the center of it."

"It's really a murder, not a sacrifice," I pointed out, but I sighed. Semantics. "So they're trying to summon a demon… do you think they're trying to make a bargain to become a Nosferatu?"

At that, the witch looked up and squinted at me. "It is certainly a possibility, depending on the demon they are summoning. I must say, I do find it interesting you compare them to a rat-like vampire."

"Er." Screw. "We... that is, the Agency designates vampires that give up their humanity "Nosferatu" after the movie is all."

She raised an eyebrow. "Doesn't that make it seem a little too much like a game?"

I gave a half-shrug. "Well, I suppose a certain amount of levity is necessary in a job like this. Anyway. If he IS trying to become a Nosferatu, I don't know why he would do so here. Florida isn't exactly the best place for bloodsuckers to run around in, unless they happen to be tiny and annoying."

"It may be that he found it necessary to come to Florida, possibly due to some other business, or possibly because some of the ingredients for this ritual of his could only be found here. Or that is was most convenient for him." She nodded to herself. "I will get in contact with the other shops in the area and see if any unusual items have been purchased as of late."

"Isn't that my job?"

"Do you know what to look for?" she questioned right back. I scowled, but said nothing, and she smiled. "After I finish with my more immediate work, I will make a list of things that I would expect to be used for a ritual like this. I know where people would look for this sort of thing, if they wanted to get them discreetly. I will make inquiries and get the list to you as soon as possible."

"So you think it's possible that he or she lives here in the state and didn't bother trying to move somewhere else to cover the murders," I noted, keeping in mind that last speculation of hers. It would be unusual for Priya to be wrong and it made way too much sense: if the killer was moving around, then those movements would coincide with the murders and leave a paper trail. Hell, if he lived in Florida, then his choice of victims made even more sense; he probably knew them from the church. Which meant he had probably been former military...

Which the Agency frequently hired. No wonder the police were keeping it quiet. "Goddammit," I muttered. Louder, I asked, "If you could ask them to make a note of people who are regular customers?"

"All right."

Some time passed and I left for the restaurant. I ended up using my new e-mail to send a request to McLaughlin about having a meeting, and to look up more information on the runes used in the circles. It was pretty basic stuff, just a "generic" summoning circle for a greater demon, if there is such a thing. The center of the circle was blank, so I still didn't know who it was the circle was bringing up. 

When I returned to the shop, there were small curls of metal all over the floor and table where Priya was still working her magic. Other than the metal pieces and the constant motion of her hands, it looked as though there were no change from earlier.

"You don't need to hang around the area while I work on this," Priya noted without turning around. "It will be several hours at the least for me to finish putting these runes into the new plates. If I work through the night, I still won't be able to finish these before morning."

"If what I think is going on is correct, then I don't feel safe going out without my riot gear," I said.

"You're in no danger this night. I will send Anemone to your apartment if I come up with further information on the ritual," she added without turning, putting down her tools for just a second to gesture sharply at the sprite. Anemone's visible form faded from view and I felt a light breeze stir my hair before it blew against the backroom's door, down the hall, and then blew the front door open.

I admit, I twitched a little knowing that Priya had my address without me telling her.


	6. Chapter 5

When I got into the Agency the next morning, the first thing that happened was I was called to Bright's office. I put my stuff down on my chair and considered making her wait until I had gotten a cup of stale coffee into me first, but being a pain to the boss never ends well. I just trudged out of my cubicle with an expression that would have been scary enough to send my coworkers scurrying for cover, except that they'd had at least four years to become immunized to it.

I arrived at her office to find Richards was already seated in one of the chairs and I just barely kept myself from rolling my eyes where Bright could see. "Pall. Good of you to come in so promptly. Have a seat." She gestured me to take the one next to Richards, which I did because again, being passive-aggressive to the boss really doesn't help anyone. I glanced at Richards and noticed he was very carefully not looking in my direction, instead focusing on a corner of the desk.

"Is there something important you wanted to talk to me about, boss?"

"There is." She nodded crisply and gestured towards Richards this time. "I've spoken with Agent Richards about his behavior--" and her voice became a bit strained as she spoke, which made me think she had found talking to the classist, racist bastard about as much fun as I did, "--and we've come to an agreement that his behavior towards you was inappropriate and he needs to apologize for it, much in the same way that you need to apologize for manhandling him yesterday."

Richards didn't look in the least bit repentant, but he extended his hand in my direction. "I'm sorry for my behavior, Agent Pall, and I hope you'll forgive me for my comments." His tone was completely neutral.

I didn't take his hand just yet. "If you're going to apologize, then you should learn to look the person in the face to convey sincerity." And what I thought was, if you're going to lie to me, at least have the balls to look me in the eye when you do it.

He didn't do it immediately, but apparently my request was a reasonable one because Bright started glaring at him from over the desk until he reluctantly looked at me. There was a look of complete apathy on his face, as though he couldn't care less whether I accepted his apology or not. Well, if he was going to have that attitude to reconciliation, then I already had an idea of how to let it bite him in the ass.

I forced a smile and finally took his hand and shook it. "I apologize for how I behaved in the corridor yesterday. I'm glad to see that you're willing to admit your _faults_ and I hope you'll have the chance to _correct_ them as my _junior_." I laid a careful stress on the words and watched the color crawl up his neck with some satisfaction before releasing his hand and looking back to Bright.

She was glowering at me again, but I hadn't broken any rules yet, just been annoying, so all she said was, 'Now that you've kissed and made up, I don't want to hear about any other discipline problems in this case. The next person that acts out of line is getting suspended."

"Yes, ma'am. I need to go prepare the briefs before today's meeting, so excuse me." I hopped out of the chair and bowed to them before leaving the stifling office as quickly as possible.

*** * ***

The next day went even worse than the previous, if you can believe it. Whitehorst and Roselawn checked in and reported that they hadn't found any suspicious activity or energy from the area, but that they would keep an eye out regardless. After they left for a hot meal, a shower, and some sleep before their next shift, Richards spoke up. "I told you that trying to have a look around was going to be useless. They already know enough to hide whatever they're doing from you."

"Well, that's an amazing change of opinion," I told him, and I could already feel my temper beginning to rise again. I clenched my fists behind my back until I heard the knuckles pop. "Considering that yesterday you wouldn't even agree with me that there might be something going on in the center. Now you're saying that there's something in the center and I'm just not good enough to find it, is that it?"

He paused, then looked straight into my eyes. "I said what I said, didn't I?"

I was vaguely aware that I was beginning to lose feeling in my hands, but I put on a smile. The agents sitting near me started edging away. "You know, Richards, I'm getting the distinct feeling that you're deliberately being a pain in my ass so I'll fail, and then you think you'll come in and sweep a bunch of glory out from under me. I'm getting very tired of your attitude, and this is the last straw. Consider yourself thrown off the case; now get your ass out of my meeting room." With that, I turned away and back to the map.

"Who the hell do you--"

I didn't even look at him and just raised my voice. No, I couldn't feel my hands at all. "I'm certain that this culprit is a long-term resident of Florida, so they would have plenty of time to put up a barrier. If they were familiar with our methods, then they would be able to tailor-make it to keep us from finding it using standard methods." Turning to the rest of the group, I barked out at Blake, "Go to the witches' division and ask for a remote viewer, a psychometrist, and at least three people that specialize in different types of barriers. I want the remote viewer and the psychometrist to check out the area and those three better be ready to move out and take that barrier down when they find it!"

Blake hesitated. "Pall, are you sure about this?"

"Belay that!" Richards _still_ hadn't left the room and if he didn't do as I said within the next few minutes, I was grabbing him by the scruff of his jacket and throwing him out into the hall. "Don't you dare carry out her orders, Blake, or I swear I'll make your life a misery."

"Blake, if you don't listen to me, it's insubordination." I stared at him, and he still looked uncertain. "Please. Trust me on this."

His eyes darted between me and Richards, but then he straightened up and nodded to me before making his way out of the room without meeting Richards' eyes. It was damn obvious he was about to lose it.

"Millns, Oakes, the psychometrists should have been able to get results or not from the items those two recovered yesterday. Go get them; I want to hear their reports within the hour. Everyone else, take off." They were eager to leave this time around, until it was only Richards and myself left in the room. "Richards, leave. If you step one foot in this room again without my say so, I'm throwing you out on your ear and i don't care what Bright says."

He looked at me. I remember the look in his eyes, but only because I had seen it so many times before. It was the look of someone that truly and without any regret in his or her heart wanted to kill me, and probably do worse than that. But he didn't say anything. Maybe it was the talk from Bright earlier, maybe it was for his own reasons, but he just turned around and walked away.

I finally brought my hands out in front of me and allowed them to open. My fingers popped as they stretched open and it stung as the blood rushed back again.

*** * ***

As I suspected, but had been hoping against, the psychometrists weren't able to get any information from the personal items of the victim. The others were looking for a new lead; Blake had gone with a psychometrist to do the footwork while the remote viewer went over the area with a fine-toothed comb. I had my meeting with the police to go to before I had to go to meet up with Simon, and then I had to run to Priya's because refreshing the runes had taken longer than expected.

I told the rest that I was heading out for lunch and would be gone the rest of the day to chase down some leads with the vampiric population of the city. Even with that excuse, I had the distinct feeling that several of the members in my group thought I was a flake. Richards' little outburst had done more harm that I could handle at the moment, but I didn't have the time to assure the others that, yes, I knew what I was doing and I probably had another very definite lead with the police. Given my suspicions, I had to play things close to the chest and hope it wouldn't bite me too hard later on in the investigation.

McLaughlin had agreed to speak with me in an AppleBee's in downtown Tampa, which worked for me because it meant I'd be able to meet with Simon quickly. I found a parking space and headed in to find myself in the middle of the lunch rush. It took me a moment to find him sitting at the bar. Conveniently, there was an open seat next to him, which I took. "Coors Light," I ordered from the bartender.

"Starting on your drinking early?" McLaughlin, his tone laconic. Now that I had taken a second look, it looked like he was in plainclothes. His demeanor was extremely relaxed, like someone who had already had a few, and his words were slurred a bit.

Since I didn't know whether he was deliberately being a dick or just playing a part, I decided to respond the way I would if he had been a civilian: with a rude gesture. The bartender popped the top off of the bottle and handed it over, and I quickly downed a few gulps of the stuff. Thanks to that bad period of few years back, I didn't need to worry about getting tipsy quickly, but I didn't want to be wobbling on my bike either. I ordered the chicken fajita roll-ups and nursed my beer while i waited for my order to get there.

After a short while had passed, McLaughlin discreetly tilted his head towards me. "So why did you suddenly call me out here? Did you pick up a lead on our guy?" he asked, slurring his speech again and mumbling it so it would be harder to overhear.

I raised an eyebrow at him. "More like _you_ did, ya prick," I said loudly. Then, muttering as well, I said, "It strikes me as funny that given as much time as y'all have had, you guys didn't ask the chaplain of the church or the people in the military. 'Specially when you already made the connection to where the bastard's attacking." I saw him stiffen out of the corner of my eye and continued, "So, I figure that you have to be holding that information back. Now why would you do that, when I already said you guys would get all the credit."

"Maybe because we don't like being ordered around by a bunch of feds," he said.

My food came and I took a moment to take a big bite out of the first fajita. Not as good as my cooking, but not that bad either. I washed it down with another swallow of beer before I answered. "Maybe. Though that seems stupid, given that there's someone's life on the line. We already have a general idea of where the current victim is going to be dumped and where they are now, you know."

"Then why aren't you doing anything?" McLaughlin demanded. That drew a few looks from the surrounding customers and he shrank back.

I ignored him in favor of my food and my booze for a while until I was sure no one was looking at us anymore. Then I responded, "Because, we only have an idea of the general area and we still need to narrow things down. So, returning to the original topic--"

"And you didn't feel like sharing this with us, huh? I guess the regular cops aren't any use when the feds are already on the case."

"This coming from the person who withheld information in the first place," I pointed out. "And I have doubters right now. It's secondary evidence we have that points the place out; we need more information if we need to narrow things down, which we would have if you guys hadn't held anything back. But," I added, "If you _had_ sent all the information to us, then you would have put us on the alert, because I'm willing to bet that you came to the conclusion that the Agency might be behind this in the first place."

He was silent for a long moment before shaking his head. "Not exactly. When I looked into the background of your... group... I found out that there were a lot of former military in your organization."

"And since all of the victims have been associated with the military, even odds that someone in the Agency might have been doing it."

"Not just _someone_. There were a few people that the chaplain pegged as having problems while they were in church and who left. We've been talking to the victims' commanding officers ever since and we narrowed it down to one name."

"Oh?"

"Yes. You heard of Robert Richards?"

It was my turn to draw attention by banging my bottle down a little too hard. "That _sanaba-_ "

"I take it you do."

"I threw the little worm off the case this morning," I snarled, barely keeping it down to below hearing. "If he's the killer, then no wonder he's been such a pain in my side. I swear, when I get my hands on that little meatbag-"

I cut myself off before I started spewing something very disturbing, and McLaughlin took the opportunity to talk a little more. "We're not 100% certain that he's the killer, but we do think he's at least an accomplice. We only have circumstantial evidence linking him to the scenes of some of the kidnappings, but there seem to be more than one person working on this. We want to make sure we nail all of them so they can't warn each other and get away."

"I'm not telling this to the Agency," I told him immediately. "If you can give me the transcripts you have of the interviews with the military, I promise to help as much as I'm able. I won't let them know that you're directly linked to this. But if this bastard..." I sighed. "No wonder we haven't been able to make any progress. He'd know exactly what we're looking for. I'm going to kill him _so_ many times over when I get my hands on him."

"How do I know you're not working for him?"

Quick as a flash, my anger redirected. "I can kill you many times over too. Don't associate me with murders. I don't do that kind of shit." Then I felt myself blanch because _that was NOT what I meant to say_.

For what it was worth, McLaughlin barely reacted, though I saw his eyebrow twitch a little."And how do I know that?"

Not for the first time, I wished that the mortal police would be swayed with just a confirmation on blood that I wasn't going to screw them over. "You can't. But if you give me this information, then I'll tell you what areas we've been looking at ourselves. You might be able to look at this in a way we can't."

McLaughlin looked thoughtful. "What's the catch?"

"The catch is that you can't be caught by Richards or whoever he's working with, or else they're going to have a pretty good idea that I know and I told you. And then I'm going to have people after me, and I don't need to deal with that again right now."

He looked at his drink for a long moment before nodding slightly. "Deal. When can I drop off the information?"

Drop off? ...Right, there was no telling who might be watching over the Internet. "I'll be at the Red Room this evening. I have to talk to the owner about a possible lead."

"Done." He finished his drink and paid the tab before getting up and walking away with a drunken swagger. I finished off my own beer and ordered another, eating the rest of my lunch as I chewed over matters in my head.


	7. Chapter 6

After the meeting with McLaughlin, I still had to meet with Simon and then pick up my armor, in preparation of my visit to the Red Room later that night. The first was to head down to Davis Island, which was a roughly hour to hour-and-a-half long trip, faster on the new expressway. I enjoyed the ride after the headache that the meeting had been.

Davis Island has a lot of skyscrapers around, along with being the home to a number of cruise ships and the Florida Aquarium, plus several stores and a movie theatre. In other words, traffic was crap trying to get through on any day of the week unless it was early, and it was worse during Gasparilla, a local festival supposedly celebrating the historic landing of a famous pirate. It goes without saying, then, that my mood was less than pleasant by the time I rolled up to the warehouse that Simon had told me to me up with him at.

As I approached, it seemed he'd been keeping an eye out for me. The door to the warehouse slowly swung open, at any rate, so Simon could step out. His looks tended to change over time; today, he had his usual red hair, cut short enough to be out of his way and not draw attention, and long enough that he didn't look outside of his usual role as a drifter. He also had very bright, pale blue eyes that only drew more attention with the pair of steel-rimmed glasses he wore over them. He was fairly short for a man, but had a stocky build like I did. Most of his dark tan skin, and the definition of muscles under it, were covered up by the denim jacket and stained white T-shirt he wore. Along with a pair of worn jeans and scuffed boots, he didn't look much different from any wanderer that you might see on any street corner. The only thing that separated him from most people was the cool, distant look in his eyes, and someone would have noticed only if they had the balls to stare.

Simon and I are acquaintances that go back some time. I met him while I was in Rocamadour trying to retrieve a certain artifact, and he was the one who found me after the test had taken hold and I had fallen down one of the many, many steep staircases of the town. He was the one who watched over me in the hospital while I fought for my life, he was the one who killed the demon that tried to kill me while I was out of it, and he was the one that would have smothered me if I had failed the test. As you can guess, we have a rather tepid relationship at times, what with me knowing if I stray too far from the right path, Simon will be behind me, some 600 meters away, readying a bullet to blow my brains out. There were very few retirements for warriors of God.

On the other hand, he frequently came around to hunt down some of the dirtier criminals (not out of the goodness of his heart, mind you), as he was a contract killer, which made my life easier. The only problem was that whenever he came around, I was usually the one that was dragged in as his spotter. The last time he showed up, he got shot in the head and I got covered in brain matter. It wasn't one of my better jobs.

His face had changed since then. The last time I had seen him, he had looked much more like someone from France, or possibly Spain. Now he looked like he would have fit in with the Filipinos. "Got shot in the head again, I take it?"

"Not all of us are paranoid," he remarked lightly. His English still had the same faint trace of a European accent as usual. "Good to see you, Sparky."

"Oi, don't call me Sparky unless you want me calling you Caspar," I retorted. I peered into the warehouse, but it was dimly lit and I couldn't see very much. It was like my eyes just didn't want to focus, and my head started to hurt. "Are you planning to give your attackers migraines?"

"Brought a witch along; we agreed this was subtler. I'll have her let you in." 

I held up a hand. "Can't stay long, I'm on a case. I was hoping I could talk to you about it for some advice before I go to the Red Room."

"The Red Room?" He frowned. "I thought you said you were going to help."

"And I will," I replied, emphasizing my words, "As much as I can while I'm working on this case. We had this conversation earlier, my opinion hasn't changed just because you're here."

He looked at me steadily. I have no problem admitting I didn't look back, since I don't have balls in the first place. "You sure about that?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. You're not paying me, for one, and if I screw up with your case, I won't have to live with the consequences." Three guesses why. "I have too much at stake with the Agency."

Simon let out a soft grunt before speaking again. "I suppose so. Well, then, your highness, would you deign to visit we lowly commoners while you're here?"

"Lead on." I put the kickstand down on my bike and hopped off.

He opened the door and gestured for me to move inside. "Ladies first."

"No, thank you. I'll stay behind you and where I can see your hands."

"I'm not going to shoot you just because you disagree with me."

"That'd be a change from your normal attitude." Or that was what I wanted to say, but I like living. Part of that was not having to worry about my brains staying in my head where they belong.

Simon didn't seem to have taken offense from my comments, which was pleasantly surprising. He pushed the door all the way open and it squealed a bit on un-oiled rails, making me flinch. I slowly followed after him as he walked in, the confusion and headache not diminishing in the least as I approached. "Anyone going to get rid of this?"

"Just a moment," a soft, feminine voice carried through the air. Something about her voice made my hackles rise. A short while passed and then my vision focused. I could see clearly into the warehouse. I edged closer to the threshold. The walls, floor, and ceiling had been covered with various magical sigils. Not ones I was familiar with, so and most likely not from Judaism or Christianity, but here and there I could see symbols and circles that reminded me of my readings. It was just as well I had left my bike outside. In the very center of the warehouse, there was a small, frail-looking young woman with the usual grayish pallor of the sickly. As I crossed the threshold and came closer, though, I could see that she would have had the golden brown color of the skin of many Middle-easterners if she had been awake and well. Her hair, which was a reddish-brown color, was cut short and looked oily and matted. She was lying on a stretcher and hooked up to an IV and heart monitor. The rails of the stretcher were pulled up, and there were two blankets tucked firmly about her. Now that I noticed, it was really quite cold in the warehouse.

I crossed my arms and tried not to look like I was huddling into my jacket. "It's rude not to introduce yourself to guests."

A musical laugh drifted out from a truck parked closer to the back of the warehouse, and eventually a woman in her prime of her life climbed out of the back. She was long of limb, which meant definitely taller than me, and more graceful than I could ever be. I hated her immediately because I'm petty like that. I hated her honey-blonde hair, which was braided and encircling her head. I hated her pale eyes--green or grey, I would guess--and I hated her pale white skin and how her figure was shown off by the simple gray dress she wore.

She gave me a knowing smile and I had the distinct feeling she knew exactly what I was thinking. It didn't make me feel better.

"You may call me Sophie," she replied, her voice carrying a strong, mellifluous French accent. If I had to listen to her for an extended period of time, I would have had to plug up my ears. Or at least make her break her voice. Everything about her was rubbing me the wrong way. "I didn't realize that the person Simon would choose to have help would be so… what is the word? Butch?"

"And I didn't realize that Simon was going to bring along a decoration instead of someone actually useful in a fight," I snapped back. "What, were you bored of stringing guys along and figured you'd hook up with Simon for a little adventure?"

I was very stupid back then. I make no excuses.

Luckily for me, all the witch did was stare at me for a moment before laughing again. I could feel myself beginning to clench my fists again, and my hands began to ache where my nails had cut into them earlier. "Oh, my! You are a charming girl! I can see that we will have much fun together."

What I said in response to that is unprintable even by my standards, but all it did was make her laugh even harder. The sound was ringing off the surfaces of the warehouses and I was beginning to feel incredibly nauseous when it all suddenly went silent.

When I was ready to move again, I looked at Sophie. She smiled at me broadly before walking around me to check on the patient. My head was still ringing as I stumbled over to the truck and sat in the back. From here, I could see that it looked like a mix between the back of an ambulance and a lawn care truck--there was a bunch of medical supplies hanging neatly along the sides, but there were also things like gloves, toolkits, a ladder, etc. Simon was closer to the front, holding an open packet of what looked like beef jerky. "Any trouble yet?"

"Not yet. And I would appreciate it if you didn't pick fights with my ally."

"She started it," I muttered, but I could feel my ears beginning to heat and I changed the subject. "So when did you get here?"

"Around midnight last night. We set up in here as quickly as we could, but so far it's been for naught--we haven't had an attack or even a false alarm yet."

I raised an eyebrow. "There's something I could say about the situation, but I don't feel like jinxing." Changing the subject, I leaned out of the back and nodded in the comatose woman's direction. "So that's the Chosen of Gabriel?"

He nodded. "Asleep for nearly 80 years. I've been keeping an eye on her for some time now."

"She doesn't look like much in the state she's in, does she?" I remarked. "Still, she's healthier than I thought--I would have figured she'd be a skeleton by now."

"I imagine that that's a little divine interference," Simon said. Sophie had carefully stepped over the lines of the symbols on the ground and was now beginning to massage the Chosen's limbs and adjust her in the bed--to prevent bed sores, I guess. He shot me a look. "And I wouldn't judge how she looks. She may seem to have a frail body, but she survived quite a lot of damage. It's no wonder it's taken her so long to heal everything."

"Well, not all of us get to heal up from any fatal injuries," I reminded him. He narrowed his eyes at me and I mentally sighed to myself. I still needed to learn when to keep my mouth shut. 

I started to leave the truck and was creeping over the lines when he spoke up again. In a very low voice, he said, "I would be careful of what you say about that particular habit of mine, Pall. You don't want me to start aiming for the back of your neck, do you?"

"No, no, that's quite alright." Now you see why I wanted to say what I did earlier, but keeping it in my head was probably the best decision I had made today. At any rate, I was pretty sure that now was hardly the time to ask him for help regarding the case, so I would have to come around later. "So, you all don't need me around, then?"

"Not at the moment." _Not ever,_ I thought I could hear in his tone. He didn't look at me as he spoke. "I'll call you if we require your assistance."

"Right." Dammit. "Well, then.. bye." Neither the Frenchwoman nor the contract killer paid me any mind as I slunk out the door.

 

* * *

Priya's shop was quiet when I drove up, but when I parked and knocked on the door, I could hear a faint, "Come on!" There was the sound of the door unlocking, and I opened it and stepped in. There was no one there.

"I'm in the back, I just finished," I could hear Priya call out. She sounded strained; was there something in there with her? After a moment's thought, I ended up bringing my police baton with me as I slowly headed into the back.

When I got there, I didn't see anyone at first, though my armor was laid out on the center table. It was clean and looked almost brand new, if you disregarded the heavy stitching on the ballistics cloth. Someone stood up from behind the table and I immediately flicked my wrist, extending the baton and brandishing it at the person.

Priya took one moment to absorb what I was doing before sighing and waving her hand. "Put that away, please. I don't enjoy having weapons in my shop. Unless they're my weapons."

I lowered the baton. "You sounded like you might be in trouble," I mumbled, feeling my cheeks get hot.

She raised an eyebrow and looked me over for a moment before shaking her head. A small smile turned up the corners of her lips. "Nothing of the sort. I'm just tired from working all night. I think you'll find things much improved."

"Oh?"

"This time I used a different type of plating, and I stitched over the fabric. The plates are a bit larger, so it might be a little more difficult to move, but I think you'll find this very satisfactory. You will probably find yourself needing this armor sooner than you expect." she said, and again I got that feeling she was looking right through me.

"Given what my life is like, probably. Don't suppose you could look into that crystal ball of yours and warn me about what's going to happen?" I joked.

"Entrails, actually," she responded evenly. "If I warn you, then matters will proceed into a path of bloodshed. In any case, you should be on your way. I will have a new set of armor ready for you when next you visit the store."

I shook my head. "I can't accept that. It's too big of a favor, I'll never be able to pay it off."

She held up a hand, giving me a look. "Don't worry about favors for the moment. I have no intention of exacting payment from you immediately. This is simply something that is necessary, nothing more."

"No offense, Swann," I started dryly, "But it's a little hard for me to believe that a witch is going to do something helpful for me without this biting me in the ass later on."

Priya waved the comment off, her face becoming carefully blank. "I am not doing it out of the goodness of my heart, Pall. I fully expect you to pay this off later on. As I said, this is something that is necessary for the future." There was something in the air, and I could feel the small hairs of my arms and neck begin to stand on end.

Then she turned away, dismissively, and the moment was over. "You should get going quickly. I would suggest keeping the armor with you, to keep from being taken by surprise." With that, she began to put away her supplies.

I had brought the backpack from yesterday with me, and used it to carry the armor, keeping one eye on the witch. It wasn't the first time that I had felt like there was a palpable tension in the air. Certainly not the first time it was probably something of magical origin. I had the distinct feeling, though, that Priya was getting me into a dangerous situation that I'd rather avoid, and I didn't know if it was for my own good or for hers.

She was right, it was a lot more difficult to fold the vest up. The time it took to store the armor and then leave the shop carrying my very bulky and awkward package meant I was stuck in that tension long enough to appreciate being outside again. I stood by for a moment, thinking, before I put the backpack on and tucked the baton into its holster on my belt. I had one more stop that evening. If my future were as bad as she implied, I wanted a weapon.


	8. Chapter 7

When I got home, my body tried to tell me that all the stress of the day required me to take a nap and rest up if I wanted all my energy. There was every chance that a fight would break out at the club. I didn't have the time, though--while the police might have figured out who the main suspect of the crimes were, arresting him wouldn't stop his accomplice (or accomplices) and there was no telling how the spell might end up reacting. The faster we could identify both the perpetrators and the type of spell, then the sooner we would be able to defuse matters. With that thought in mind, I gathered the information I intended to hand over to McLaughlin before I got onto my motorcycle and headed off for the Red Room.

The Red Room was a club in Ybor City that was well-known for its "unusual" clientele. It had even gotten an article about the people that visited--so-called "vampires" that came by in the night all decked out in their best gothic finery to party, to feed, or to be fed on. A sensational story that happened to be completely true. Most of the vampires that came by the Red Room were completely normal people in their day lives, and only came "out of the coffin," as a vampire novel put it, during the night when they came to visit. The club required appropriate dress, and worked to try and keep the normal and naive out of the way. 

I can't imagine what would happen if a bunch of feel-good hippie witches went in expecting to see sparkling vampires and came out after being fed on by some of the less scrupulous characters with their illusions shattered. The place would probably be raided by the police because of a bunch of idiots that didn't know to keep their noses out of other people's business.

And now you're giving me a strange look because I'm speaking up for vampires. Look, Richards being a monster aside, a lot of them are pretty normal--dentists, doctors, and teachers that happen to drink blood or need to feed off the energy of crowds to feel normal. They're people, and they're humans. They have the same ability to be good or evil. Many of the ones that go to the club are normal people looking for some fun and maybe dinner, and they visit to find willing blood donors or feed off the energy that people in the club give off. But some of them are real monsters that feed off of people indiscriminately and without care as to whether the unwilling "donor" would survive the experience. Some of them might evolve into serial killers to feed their cravings, or--in my case--try and use some kind of ritual for whatever reason. Just like humans might believe that they have some kind of special destiny and murder everyone.

Yeah, vampires, werewolves, whatever--they don't have a monopoly on being monsters. For the most part, different supernatural communities police themselves and take care of their own problems, which meant that I didn't see the lawless side unless it spilled over into the human world. In a case like this, I needed to report to the nearest community head for help. In this case, it was the owner of the club.

It was getting close to eight when I arrived. The Red Room was on the waterfront--a precaution against Nosferatu and other hostile supernaturals coming to haunt the place. The presence of so much moving water so close by was usually enough to give them second thoughts of showing up, and those that decided to show up after all were generally weakened enough to be kicked back out by the bouncers. The nearest agents of our Ominous Agency would then be alerted of the problem.

There was a long line at the door of the Red Room, with plenty of little boys and girls painted white and dressed in as much black leather as they could possibly stick on their bodies. Some of them had so many piercings, it looked like their faces had been bisected like a baseball. It was the eighties all over again, with darker colors.

 _Dios mio,_ I felt old all of a sudden.

I pushed ahead of the crowd, ignoring the very loud complaining that resulted. A few people pushed back. They'd be feeling those bruises in the morning. I finally got to the front of the line.

The Red Room occasionally switches out its bouncers so that everyone gets a turn at yelling at the hapless idiots that try to be "super-cool" and to talk their way into the building. Depending on whether they were "white bread" human or not, they all had different ways of keeping people out. Tonight's bouncer was a big guy--taller than me, which wasn't saying much, but definitely bigger than me, which was. If it came down to a fist-fight, I'd be shaky about what my odds were on winning, instead of getting my ass thrown into a wall or a double knock-out, at best. 

Hey, I might have a lot of experience fighting, but that was life-or-death stuff. Street fights where the goal was to just knock the other guy out weren't my cup of tea.

Fortunately, it wasn't likely to come to that. I reached into my jacket and came up with a flap of leather, which I opened to flash my agency badge at the bouncer. "Magda Pall of - " I gave the public name for the Agency. "We've had reports of some suspicious characters and thought that it would be a good idea to talk to the owner and find out if they had seen anything."

Tiny grunted and unhooked the red velvet rope, letting me past. I squeezed by with minimal body contact and gave a nod to indicate my gratitude as the people in line that hadn't been close enough to hear my little speech began to complain about how unfair it was that I got to skip ahead like that. I took a moment to glance back and saw Tiny glare at the unruly clubbers, who suddenly went quiet, like birds that had just spotted a cat.

Heh. Whatever caused less bruises, I guess.

Once I was in the club, I had the dubious pleasure of having my hearing assailed by some loud, rhythmic music with too many clashing instruments and electronic noise. Strobe lights and lights in various shades of red alternated in their lighting. I could already feel the beginnings of a headache building up behind my eyes. The air was filled with the smell of sweat and arousal and, just teasing at my nose, the coppery scent of blood. It was thick and hard to breathe, but I knew where I needed to go to get a hold of the owner of the club--we had met several times before. The only trouble was that the office was on the second floor and the only access was across the dance floor, which took up the entire length of the building. I tucked my clothes tight against my body, made sure that I had my belongings in my inner pockets, and began to squirm my way through. The leather would have been able to get me through pretty well, being a smooth material, but it was also slicked with the sweat pouring off everyone else's bodies. Sweat was starting to pour off mine too, but I tried not to look bothered by it. I had to work hard to get across the dance floor with minimal groping.

After popping out of the crowd of bodies like a cork from a champagne bottle, I took a moment to make sure that all of my belongings were still in their pockets before I headed for the stairs, which were blocked by another bouncer. I went through the same process as I had with Tiny (this one was on a size with me, though I noticed hints of heavy rings underneath his leather gloves) and from there was sent up the stairs. I got to the door, wood with a frosted glass window. The lettering read, "Martín Seda." I gave the wood a light knock before opening the door.

In hindsight, I probably should have waited. Martín was in a meeting. With a very lovely lady straddling his hips while he sat on the edge of his desk. Most of his shirt had been unbuttoned, along with the back of her dress. As soon as I opened the door, there was a squeak, a shout, and I saw way more of Martín than I _ever_ needed to before I slammed the door shut.

My face feels like it's on fire just _remembering_ that… hey, stop laughing! It's not that funny!

I was still stunned by what I had seen when the door slammed back open again. It had felt like just a few seconds, but it had probably been several long minutes, since the door had been opened by the woman I had just seen. Her dress had been haphazardly replaced and her hair, which had been loosened to fall down her back (why do I still remember this?!), had been sloppily pulled back. Her make-up was smeared and her cheeks looked about as red as mine felt, but other than that, she looked relatively presentable. She fairly flew down the steps to be let through by the bouncer, who let out a belly laugh as she ran past. Bastard.

Now somewhat more composed--or at least working my way out of my stunned state--I peeked into the office through the open door. Martín was still looking frazzled and his clothes were disheveled, but they were at least on now. He was still smoothing back his hair and straightening his clothing when I came into the room. "Have you never heard of patience?" he snapped at me, his Cuban-Spanish accent thickening in his anger.

"Have you ever heard of there being a proper time and place for things?" I fired back. The angry banter brought me back to earth. "You could have chosen a better place to have your affair. There's something called public decency."

"This is my office, and this is my building. You are the one intruding, Ms. Pall."

"Agent Pall," I corrected. "Then try locking the door. Or get a better bouncer to keep people out; the one out right now seemed pretty amused about the whole thing." After a moment, I realized I was acting like a child and I sighed. "Mr. Seda, I'm not here to get into a fight with you. I'm on a case and I wanted to ask some questions I thought you could help me with."

By now, Martín had finished re-dressing. He was a slender man, dressed in a white three-piece suit with a clean (though no longer crisp) white shirt. His black silk tie stood out sharply. He had the pale skin of his European heritage and dark hair trimmed short, just a little longer than a buzzcut. The only trace of his otherworldly heritage that could be felt was the occasional sense of some intimate pull between himself and whoever he was looking at, a mild compulsion to give into him and be his.

At the moment, there was no sense of compulsion, only a feeling of irritation almost palpably radiating off of him. He visibly struggled to calm down, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths. In a short time, the feeling vanished. Martín opened his eyes and then seated himself behind his desk with slow, calculated movements. "Agent Pall. What is it that I can help you with?"

"My employers have pointed me onto a case where I think a vampire may be involved. I I have a lead on who the perpetrator might be, and I was wondering if you might be able to offer some information on a ritual this person is using."

Martín steepled his fingers and stared at me over them. I could feel myself beginning to tense without further provocation--and it probably wasn't even intended as such. I took a deep breath of my own and tried to force myself to relax. I had already learned my lesson for today; it wouldn't help if I just jumped down his throat.

"We do have access to a list of all registered vampiric beings in the state, to help keep out those that don't belong. May I ask why it is so important to you that this information is retrieved, however?"

I rubbed my forehead, remembering the photos I had seen in the file. "I have dead bodies, Martín, and it looks like I'm going to have more of them. I'd appreciate your help in the matter."

When I looked up, there was a cold and unreadable expression on his face. After a moment, it changed to one of fierce anger. Human though he appeared, his otherworldly nature was stronger in him than in the other vampires of the establishment. If I had to guess, he probably felt a natural predator's anger at the sense that something was encroaching on his territory. Or maybe it was the very human desire to go after the person giving his "people" a bad name. Or maybe it was related to the club. It could have been a mix of all three. Whichever it was, the fire had been lit in him.

"I would be happy to provide you with that information, then. Can I have a name?"

"Robert Richards. If your people have any records of others he might be associating with, that would be a great help too."

He nodded, his eyes distant. "Of course. And about the ritual?"

I shared what we had found so far and he looked more and more displeased by the moment. "I have to say, it's been some time since I've seen something like this," he told me. "This strongly resembles the ritual that made me, though without the text in front of me, I couldn't tell you the exact differences. I can, however, almost guarantee that this is related to one of the Abrahamic demons, but you would need to find out who exactly he's making the deal with to determine what kind of vampire he'll become. From my experience, if you stop the ritual from completion, there shouldn't be any harm or backlash, but the energy is just going to be stuck in one place and ready for the nearest trigger. You'll have to bleed the energy off or ground it, and depending on exactly how much energy has accumulated, there would be all sorts of side effects."

Oh, that was going to make Bright happy. "Anything else?"

"Yes." Martín narrowed his eyes as he thought. "Either your suspect is very old, or he has an accomplice. If I'm correct and this ritual is based on the one my master used, then they would have needed access to the original texts, or to someone with memory of them. As far as I know, all of the texts were burned with him and his coven when they were executed as heretics. It should be impossible for anyone to have used it once again."

While I chewed over that, he pushed himself off his desk. "And now, I'll retrieve that information you asked for. One moment, please." He gracefully stood up and I bowed (keeping my eyes on him), which he returned before walking past me and leaving the office. The office was soundproofed, and the return of the loud "headbanging" music when he opened the door wasn't something I had missed. I was left alone in the office for some time, back to the door, trying not to seem impatient, with my eyes occasionally straying to the spot on the desk that Martín had been sitting...

Ye gods, I was never getting that mental image out of my head. Even now, all I want to do is head to the nearest bar and drown the memory out… by chance, do you happen to have any liquor in here?

Don't look at me like that.

It was a relief when the door opened again. "That took you long en-" I bit down on my tongue as something smashed against the back of my skull. The world went black for a moment, then came back, and the taste of blood was rich in my mouth. The room was still dark and dim to my eyes, though, but I could barely make out the shape of someone kneeling down. I must have fallen over, I thought at the time. As I watched, blinking rapidly in some misguided attempt to clear my vision, I could see the gleam of a knife as it was unsheathed, as the person lifted the knife above his head…

Because he was going to stab me. Which was unfortunate. And I finished maneuvering my legs around to kick him as hard as I could in the stomach. There was a muffled "whuff!" though I couldn't tell if that was because I was still out of it or because his face was covered. He or she lost their balance and fell back, and the knife fell out of their hands and skittered off in a different direction. Sluggishly, I started to roll onto my knees and get up, swaying like a drunk. Christ, I remember my head hurting like hell. You never get used to those hits, especially when it's by someone who knows what they're doing. It's only luck and a few newtons difference in force that keeps a blow like that from either knocking someone out completely or killing them. 

Sadly, my snail-like speed wasn't enough. The other person hadn't been knocked in the head, after all. I barely comprehended the low growl before they got up--much faster than I could, of course--and tackled me back to the floor, which did nothing for my head and by then I was getting nauseous from sudden shift of equilibrium and repeated changes in altitude, and so I vomited all over the both of us. It might have saved my life, because the person howled either in disgust or anger and then grabbed at my throat. His or her hands were slippery now, though, and while the acid burned at my skin a little, the person's hands could not get a good grip. At this point I was mostly on a vacation mentally, but that's why it's handy to have a body that works on autopilot after decades of fighting. With a pressure on my neck, my hands automatically went up and drove my fingers into one of their eyes.

The scream of pain from that made my head throb, and I could feel my stomach churn in protest. The weight that had been on me suddenly vanished and I could hear someone stumbling around before the throbbing music returned and disappeared. It seemed like a good enough time for a nap.


	9. Chapter 8

When I came to, there was a very bright light in my eyes and I automatically flinched away. " _Jode tu cuerpo con una piña_ ," I muttered under my breath.

"I see that being assaulted does nothing to change your temperament," a familiar male voice commented, sounding amused. I glowered in the general direction of the voice to find Martín, the upper parts of his suit removed and a bandaged chest on display. "Sleep well?"

I grunted. "What time is it?" Looking around, I could see that I was still in Martín's office. Something seemed off, but I couldn't think of what it was.

"Around 9:30. I suppose that you were jumped as well."

"That _sanabagan_ knocked me in the back of my head and tried to stab me," I managed to snarl and the rage was still building. "It was my own fault. I should have looked to see who it was opening the door. Just assumed it was you." His words finally made it through my mind. "Wait, you got jumped too?"

He tilted his head off to the side, presumably in the direction of the security room. "When I went to get that list for you, I found the security guard dead at the controls. I went to check on him without thinking and got knifed in the back and chest for it." An eerie smile crossed his face. "They severely underestimated my ability to survive."

"You're like a cockroach, Martín," I said with a snort. "It will take a nuclear blast to take you down for good."

"And possibly not even then," he agreed cheerfully. "I don't suppose you got a good look at the attacker?"

"No, I was too fuzzy from the blow to my head," I answered. Remembered pain caused a twinge and I brushed my hand against the spot where the blow had connected--I could already feel a knot beginning to form. Wonderful. "The voice might have been familiar. I got the impression of a lot of dark colors, but they may have just been dressed like the club people here to blend in." Speaking of the clubbers… that was it. "I don't hear any music."

"We kicked everyone out, of course," he replied. "We called the police to report the murder a short while ago; they're waiting outside for your statement."

"Even more wonderful," I mumbled. I slowly pushed myself into a sitting position, finally taking notice of paramedics surrounding me--or at least they looked like paramedics. Given the lack of response to what we were talking about, I'd wager that either they were in the vampire community or employed by the Agency.

Crap. If anyone from the Agency heard about this... Richards was already a turncoat, and who knew if he had turned others, given how much people seemed to worship him. I needed to make sure this didn't get back to the Agency until I could tell Bright myself.  
A thought suddenly occurred to me and I looked at my hand. It was clean, though faint traces of blood could still be made out in the creases of my palm. "What happened to my hand?"

"It was covered in blood," one of the paramedics spoke up. "We didn't find any injuries on your body, so we thought it might belong to whoever attacked you. Some of the forensics guys came by and took samples to send to trace evidence."

"It belonged to the attacker, all right." I could feel a triumphant, vicious little grin cross my face. "Whoever our attacker was, he's a Cyclops now. I need to talk to the police, now."

A few minutes later, I had been cleaned to the best of my ability without taking a shower. "The story I gave the police," Martín murmured to me in a low voice as he walked me from the office down the stairwell, "Was mostly the truth--you were here to get some information on the case because you thought they might have some sort of vampire fetish. I left you in the office to get the records you asked for--the bouncer at the bottom of the stairs saw me leave and can confirm that there are no other human means to get there. The wounds I got from the attacker were mostly superficial, but I banged my head on the counter in the control room and lost consciousness."

"Human with a vampire fetish. Sounds about right." It was pretty much what I intended to tell McLaughlin anyway when I handed him over Martín's records. And anyway, this was definitely one of the better lies. Last time it was a hooker with heavy body-modification, and you really don't want to know the rest of the story. We fell silent as we approached the entrance. The area was covered with that yellow crime scene tape, and a pair of policemen were stationed there as well, one on either side. After a quick explanation, one of them went in to call out one of the detectives.

The door had been left open, and I could see several people busily working to sweep up broken glass and cutting off the carpeting where there was a dark stain--blood from something, assumedly, but I wasn't sure what. It might have been from the perpetrator trying to get out in a hurry and not being very gentle with the clubbers on the way out. I remembered seeing a similar stain back up in Martín's office. Probably whatever I had been hit with had gashed the scalp and some of the blood soaked through when I was on my back. I was checking my head for the injury--yep, I could feel tiny stitches holding something closed--when the police officer returned with one of the detectives in tow. "Miss Pall?" the younger man called.

A _very familiar_ younger man. I nodded to him as he approached and wondered if he had been called in for the murder or if he was just here because of our arrangement. Before my attention could drift much farther, Detective McLaughlin called my name again and I snapped to. This wasn't the time to be ignoring the world around me. "Yes?"

"Didn't expect to see you here. I'd like to ask you some questions about what happened?"

I nodded, flinching and touching the back of my head as though the injury were paining me. Which it was, but compared to some of the other injuries I had had, it was nothing. It helped that my head still felt a little fuzzy, though. He led me away from Martín, who feigned nonchalance and was soon involved in a conversation with another officer--since he was gesturing energetically in the direction of the security office, I guessed that they were talking about the dead security officer. I turned back to the officer, who was looking at me intently. "Yes?"

"Agent Pall, I'm interested in knowing what you were doing talking to Mr. Seda this evening. Could you go over the evening's events?"

I shrugged. "Of course. From the information that you've gathered and our own work, we've come to the conclusion that whoever might be doing the murders has a vampire fetish. The Red Room caters to that sort of people and has heavy links with other business catering to that subculture, so I thought I would talk to Mr. Seda and see if he could find any information about Richards. He left the room to gather information. I was waiting for him here when I was attacked."

Frowning, he continued, "And you say that you came to ask Mr. Seda about the matter? How do you know Mr. Seda?"

"Because of Mr. Seda's unusual clientele and services, we've kept an eye on him in case this club turned out to be a front for some illegal business. Also because of the possibility of murderers that lean towards the occult, of course."

A quick look at McLaughlin made me notice that he looked thoughtful, and not entirely unbelieving of my story. Which just goes to show you can't judge BDSM dungeons by their covers.

"And the Agency really believes that this man is important?" McLaughlin asked.

I shrugged. "From what we've seen, this place is just another set-up cashing in on the vampire craze, but you know. All sorts end up on the news with deaths under weird circumstances. I've met Mr. Seda several times in those instances."

McLaughlin shook his head, scribbling down notes. "All right. Now, you said you were attacked. Did you get a look at the attacker?"

"No. He or she came up from behind when I was waiting in the office. I thought it was Mr. Seda, so I didn't think to look until I got nailed in the back of the head." And after that, thinking wasn't exactly within my capabilities. "After that, my vision was too blurry to get a good look at them. They looked dark, but they could have just been dressed up like every other vampire-wannabe in the club."

He smiled. "I don't hear a lot of respect for the vampire establishment."

I feigned a sneer. "I might be happy to be out from behind a desk for the first time in a while, but I don't see how a bunch of… what do they call them now? "Emo"? A bunch of emo kids that want to play King of the Coffin are something I have to worry about. And then I have to go off and chase after some idiot that decides to hold up tourists while dressed up like it's Halloween, or some guy that goes off and date-rapes people because he think it feeds his life force or whatever other stupid crap, and don't get me started on those stupid idiots that bleed themselves--"

The detective held up a hand. "Okay, okay! I get it. I guess it's not all fun and sparkles with the supernatural." I glared at him. "Sorry. Anyway, it looked like you were knocked down by the attacker? Did you get a feel of him at all?"

"He--or she, it might have been a girl--looked taller than me, but I was on the ground by then, so I couldn't really tell."

"Can you describe the attack itself?"

"I was standing around when I heard the door open. I thought it was Mr. Seda, but then I got knocked in the head. I think I blacked out? I don't remember hitting the floor, at least, but when I came to, I was lying down and I couldn't focus very well on what was going on around me," I explained, scrunching up my face as though in thought. "I was looking up at the person who attacked me and they took out a knife. They raised it up to stab me, but I managed to kick them in the stomach and they dropped the knife. I don't know what happened to it, but the person attacking me got knocked back. I tried to get up, but they recovered faster and then tackled me to the ground." Now that I thought about it, that weight had been familiar. "I got sick and ended up… throwing up all over myself." I looked down at my chest and felt my cheeks heat up as I noticed the bits of vomit and dark stain that was still soaked into my shirt. "Oh, I'm going to need a shower as soon as I get home."

"Sounds like a good idea. Now, was that it?"

"No. Uh… after that, they tried to strangle me, but they couldn't get a good grip. I ended up grabbing their face and shoving my thumb into one of their eyes," I finished. "I heard them screaming, I think, and then after that I blacked out until a short while ago."

He whistled softly. "That's pretty harsh."

"It was nonlethal and whoever it was was trying to kill me," I replied, glowering. "I could have done a lot worse."

"Hey, I'm not judging you," he replied, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. I got a quick look off his notes before he returned his hands to their original positions. "About what time did you get here?"

"Around eight, I would say? I didn't look at a clock."

"And how did you get here?"

"I came here on my motorcycle."

He continued making notes, and it looked like he might have been drawing arrows from one area to another. Or lines, maybe. Long strokes. "Okay, now I'd just like to go over that one more time…"

We went over my story several times, and with each reiteration, McLaughlin dug for a new angle. Some remembered detail, some hole in my story. I gave what information I could, and I played on his apparent skepticism with the occult. I could see he had come to the same conclusion I did--the attack probably had something to do with the murders. Which meant that it was in my jurisdiction, not his, but I'd have to prove that. By then, it felt like hours had passed and I was getting grumpy--I felt oily, not to mention foul from vomiting. The sour smell was starting to get to me as well. Eventually he said, "Well, I think that's all for now. We'll call you if we have more questions for you."

"You've got my card. I may not answer while I'm on the case but I should get back to you eventually if I get a call, so just leave a message."

He nodded and folded the notebook closed, tucking it into the inside pocket of his coat. "Thank you very much, Agent Pall." He hesitated. "By the way, about that information trade..."

I nodded outside. "I locked it in my motorcycle. I'll ask Mr. Seda to give you a copy of any information he may have found as well." We left the club and he followed me to my motorcycle, which was parked out of the way. Whoever it was must not have know about the drop, because the contents of the saddlebag were as I left them. McLaughlin handed me a shiny stick which I would later learn was a thumb drive. I handed him back a fairly thick manila envelope, which contained a map with the potential locations marked off and the current observations of the areas--censored to remove mention of the supernatural, of course. 

"Pleasure working with you, Agent Pall. I hope we'll talk again soon."

Threat? "No offense, detective, but let's hope we don't need to." I put on my helmet and climbed onto my bike. My legs were starting to feel like jelly from a combination of worn-away adrenaline, the vomiting, a lack of sleep, and an empty stomach. God, I needed sleep. Looking back at the club, I could see Martín standing at the entrance, peering at me. I waved him off and he disappeared back inside.

Tired, weak, and covered in chunky bits, I headed off for home.

* * *

As soon as I got home, I bolted up the stairs to my apartment, nearly tearing the knob off the door in my attempts to get it unlocked. Once I was inside, I pretty much just took a second to get the door shut before I bee lined for the bathroom, jumping in fully-clothed and turning the water on. Ruined clothes be damned, I was getting sick smelling the vomit. It was after a few minutes under hot, boiling water that my stomach finally settled down and I could start stripping out of my clothes. Which was just as fun as you might guess, given that I was wearing form-fitting jeans. Definitely switching to looser ones; less protection, but they wouldn't be such a pain in the ass to get out of and there'd be more air circulation.

I soaked under the water for almost an hour, scrubbing myself furiously until my skin was red with scratches and heat and I finally got that horrible taste out of my mouth. Afterward, I wrapped up in a towel, filled up the tub, and left my non-leather clothes to soak. I'd have to take care of the jacket later.

Sometime later, I was sitting in the kitchen with a plate of fried ham with rice, a bottle of beer at my side. It was too early to sleep just yet--not with all this new information, and I had some maintenance work to do now. Probably ill-advised, given how shaky I felt, but I needed to get something done or I'd be too wound up to get any rest. So I sat, and I ate, and I went over what had happened that night.

Either I had my own personal assassin trying to kill me, or this person was related to the killings--and to Richards. It wasn't that I didn't have a lot of people angry at me--my record with Mephistopheles is just such an example--but most of them were demons under the employ of the First of the Fallen. They could kill me themselves, if they wanted to, but it was doubtful that I would have been able to drive them off that way in the state I was in. They probably wouldn't have been driven away by something as petty as me vomiting on them, either. Plus the person didn't have the same kind of presence and strength to them that demons had--which I would been able to pick up on, side benefits to working with God and all. 

As for non-demon nemeses... still unlikely. I left them behind with my old life. But given the effort the person had taken to get to me and then to try and kill me--when they could have just killed the security guard and Martín--I was willing to bet it was personal. Killing the security guard may have been to make sure that no one could warn me, but she or he could have easily concealed her or his identity from the camera. It wasn't necessary to kill them and, depending on when Martín was attacked, it may not have been necessary to attack him either. Which meant that I would need to get a Time of Death for the security guard and ask when Martín had been attacked in comparison.

All of this made me think that the attacker had been Richards. I must have been on the right track with looking up information at the Red Room, or maybe he had figured that since he knew where I was going to be, he might as well take a chance at trying to take me out. But then, why would they have been in the security room? If they knew or guessed that I was going to the Red Room for information, they might have gone to the security room to make sure that access to the database was destroyed. The security guard would have been in the way, but then... did he take out Martín because he came in at the wrong time? That would make sense--it didn't sound like it had been a well-planned attack, or else they would have brought something better than just a knife to try and take him out. So Martín must have startled him.

So if I put it together... Richards probably went to the club tonight because it would be the natural place to look for information on vampiric activity. I'm not sure why he thought salting the earth as far as information was necessary to avoid coming up in relation at all, but he may not have been able to otherwise, depending on what kinds of methods vampires used to keep track of their own. The different supernatural communities tend to keep to themselves about their own methods as well, save for the humans, so he probably wouldn't know whether he had been tracked or not until he was looking at the information himself. It would have been imperative that he get a look at the Red Room's records to see if he had been seen. When he was in the security office, he saw that I was here, that Martín was on his way, and that I was left alone. He must have been cornered in the security room, so he tried to kill Martín to get him out of the way, and since I was conveniently there, he went after me as well.  
Which left the question of how long he had been in the security office. Had it been long enough for him to destroy the records? Had he been able to locate them in the first place? There was also the matter of whether or not Richards was aware that the normal police were on his tail and that I was meeting McLaughlin tonight. I hadn't thought it at the time since my bike had been undisturbed and there were no signs of anyone trying to break into my motorcycle, but there was no telling whether or not he or his accomplice had stuck around afterward and seen us exchange information.

A thought struck me and suddenly the food felt sour in my stomach. If that was the case, then they might try to attack McLaughlin when he was on his own, or maybe even attack the cops. Worse, if he had a family, they might take them hostage to make him accede to whatever demands they had. It was one thing for McLaughlin to be in danger; he was a cop. It was completely different for civilians to get involve.

I washed the mouthful of food down with my beer and went to my phone. Bright needed to be put on the alert. _Now._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone's up for volunteering to help with Puerto Rican-Spanish swearing, I'd appreciate it.


	10. Chapter 9

The next day when I got to the Agency, I went straight to Bright's office. I hardly touched the doorknob when the door slammed open, and I had to jump back quickly to avoid getting hit. "Pall. Get in here, there's been a development."

"Besides Richards being under suspicion?" The grim look on her face told me what I needed to know, but I stepped into her office and let her close the door behind me before I spoke up again. "The body's been found, I take it?"

"Just last night," Bright responded. Her face was pale and bloodless, and the crimson lipstick she was wearing stood out. "You were right. He dumped the body in the alley you thought he would. We had people there, and they caught him just finishing the sigil--he got away when they chased after them, though." She moved slowly to her desk and took her seat. "And that makes killing no. 6."

"The hexagram is complete." Like I needed this on top of everything else. I blew air out slowly. "Around when did they catch him in the act?"

"Around 7:15 last night."

I measured the distances in my head and did the math. " _Sonabagan_. Yeah, he'd be within distance to make the drop and then try to kill me."

Bright drummed her hand on the desk. "I don't like where this is going, Pall. First you don't get along with one of my agents, and then suddenly that agent turns out to be a traitor? Not to mention you've said you think he turned others too."

"Boss, listen to yourself and then tell me that little rat couldn't make others agree with him. He's the one that the police have picked out as a suspect--and they don't know the little brat, so they're impartial--but it sounds like you think I'm to blame for this somehow. If he happens to be a killer and a terrible excuse for a human being at the same time, it has nothing to do with me." While she took that in, I stewed over the mess from last night. "That little… if he thought he'd just swing by and knock me off, I'll [and you don't need to know this bit]," I promised, my hands starting to hurt again. I really did need to get out of that habit.

"Pall," Bright said in an admonishing tone. She was looking at me like I had gone insane--and it probably looked that way. "If this is going to interfere with hunting him down..."

I took a deep breath. "No, I... it's fine. I won't let it interfere with the job." Deep, calming breaths. "Anything on McLaughlin? Did you put a viewer on him?"

"Yes. And the viewer is a very reliable source, so don't worry about whether they've been swayed or not. Nothing has happened to the man or his family yet."

That was one thing to be relieved about. "So now we have to find Richards before he or whoever he's working for grabs victim no. 7. Have you been able to get a lock on him?"

To my surprise, she shook her head. "No. No matter what we use--blood, hair, personal items--I haven't been able to get a read. Not even my hounds can catch his scent. Whoever he's working with must be either a god or a disciple of one if they can keep me from my prey so thoroughly." She didn't look happy in the slightest, and I couldn't blame her--Bright was well-known for being able to sniff people out. The fact that it was failing this time had to be incredibly frustrating, not to mention nerve-wracking. The person covering him had to be on a roughly equal power level to her to pull it off.

The fact that she was reducing a human being to something to be tracked and killed should have made the hairs on my neck stand on end, but I couldn't say that I didn't feel the same way. After everything that Richards had put the victims through, I almost wanted to say that hunting him down like an animal was too good for him. He deserved worse. Much worse.

But I'm one of the good guys, even if I work for the government. And so we would have to play things by the book.

In the meantime, we had other things to be concerned about. "Ma'am, if you wouldn't mind, now might be a good time to talk about who Richards has been spending time with..."

She looked at me and raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"The information from Seda came in this morning." I held up a manila folder. "I was serious when I said I thought people had gone over to Richards' side. It seems that a few of the members of our Agency have been hiding their vampirism. And they've been seen hanging out with Richards lately, too."

It was just as well the door was closed. No one else needed to have their ears nearly singed off by Bright's swearing.

*** * ***

Once she had calmed down, I handed the folder over to Bright. She rapidly flipped through the information, taking it down in her mind, I suppose, faster than I thought anyone capable. "There are quite a few people there that were recommended to me for this case and in positions where they could believably stall without anyone of us knowing the better."

"I really want to hear some good news out of you soon, Pall," she warned me.

Fat chance. "I'm afraid that knowing who _might_ be a traitor is as good as it gets, boss. I went over the information and hours of the members of my team for the last few days. Richards might have been able to pull this off by himself, or even just with one accomplice hiding him, but it makes much more sense if he had multiple accomplices. His records didn't indicate anything about having the kind of magical skill he'd need to wipe energy signatures and hide magic behind a barrier. Having many people help him would mean that he could get people that specialize, maybe even ones that are devout to particular gods and could hide him from you. He could even have them move about freely and accomplish many tasks at once..."

The word "devout" pulled on me. Tasks. Needing a sacrifice, and that feeling of sulfur. I should have picked up on it sooner, and with it happening right at the time that Simon brought the Chosen of Gabriel here, it couldn't be a coincidence.

"Pall? What are you thinking?"

I pointedly glanced around, then looked her in the eyes and said, "I can't tell you."

She wanted to start yelling at me again, I could tell, but she checked herself and gave a curt nod, then a gesture for me to take my leave. Unsure what to make of it, I backed off slowly at first. Then, when the heat in her eyes seemed to be growing, I decided that I needed to get off of her nerves and I quickly made my way back out of the building.

But there was someone I needed to contact first.

"Swann Song Magic and Sundries."

"Priya, I have an assignment I'd like you to give Anemone," I told her without preamble.

"Is this something you can't rely on your own people for?"

She knew exactly what was happening, didn't she? "Yes, it is." And how did everyone else miss it? "I have something I need you to check out."

"Oh?"

"I need you to help me find someone." The line was almost palpably silent. If she turned me down...

"We think we know who the killer is," I explained. "But none of our tracking methods have been able to find him. We think that someone who's either a god or a follower of one is concealing him. I know that Anemone is a sylph; she can go wherever there's airflow and just as fast; she can find him regardless of protection. I'll pay you whatever you want."

"I see your logic. Of course, for something as big as this, you realize I'll require you to owe me a favor?"

My day was just getting better and better. "Understood."

"I'll hold you to that." Then more distantly, away from the speaker. "Anemone, would you be so kind as go through the city and find Mr. Richards?"

"Yes!" I heard her answer cheerfully.

Priya returned to the phone. "I will make sure that she is waiting for you at your next stop, Agent Pall." She hung up after that.

I was outside and getting ready to start my bike when out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement. " _Sonabagan!_ " I shouted, nearly jumping back off.

I'm not sure how exactly, but in the few minutes it had taken to make the call, Bright had caught up to me. She walked up and leaned forward, her eyes searching mine, ignoring my reaction to her sudden appearance. I thought I saw the shadows move out of the corner of my eye. "Does this seem like the right time to run off?"

"I told you, I can't--"

There was a sudden tightening sensation, and the sounds surrounding us dulled. "I want a complete answer."

I looked around for a bit, still startled. That was the first time that I had _ever_ seen Bright use magic. I hadn't even been aware that she had been capable of it, other than her hounds. She was patient enough, surprisingly, allowing me to settle down before I spoke again, thinking carefully over how to word it. "I think that what Richards is up to is linked to a private matter that a friend of mine has involved me with."

"And this isn't something that you can bring to the Agency's attention?"

This was one of those times when being honest and open with your superior was helpful. "It's regarding the organization of Abrahamic demon hunters I'm involved with, ma'am. It's not something I can discuss with people outside of the circle, but I'll do my best to keep you up-to-date with any information I find."

"Is that so." She gave me a hard look. "I hope you know what you're getting into, Pall. This is a very large mess you've discovered and I don't want it getting any harder to clean up, is that understood?"

It was hard for me to bite down the urge to tell her that I could handle anything. It's a habit from my youth I still haven't lost. There was another reason I didn't want to show overconfidence too: because she was such an improvement over the last agent they put in charge, and because she had made a point of taking care of her subordinates when they were in trouble, I had put a fair amount of trust in her over the years. That didn't mean that trust wasn't misplaced, and the suspicion that maybe she was the real villain and Richards doing the rituals was under her command occurred to me. She might have been part of the corruption in the Agency.

It wouldn't be for the first time. Ask me about her predecessor later.

So instead I nodded and jumped on my bike before she could stop me. Bright reached for me, but I tore out of there before she made contact. Faintly, just over the sound of the motor, I heard her yell after me, "We need to talk later, Pall!"

I was waiting at a traffic light when my cell phone went off. A glance at the number told me I couldn't afford to miss it. "Pall here."

"They've come for her," was the brief response in Aramaic, and then the line went dead.


End file.
